Rise of Rhodighan
by Nutzkie
Summary: When an age-old vendetta is finally fulfilled, the world is forced to respond. Follow our two favorite teen heroes as they spearhead the international effort to restore order, and desperately try to survive the process. *Nobody said diplomacy was easy.*
1. Of Plans & Parking

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**Foreword:**

Now before we get too deep into this little tale, I'd like to take this opportunity to clarify a few things regarding the overall timeline.

As planned, this story is going to essentially pick up where "Summertime Blues" leaves off. To that end I had originally intended for one to follow the other, holding off on publishing this story until "Blues" was complete and in the can. In that way, storylines would be more solid and potential conflicts in continuity could be kept to a minimum.

…So much for "best laid plans" and all that jazz.

As things stand right now, "Blues" is in somewhat of a holding pattern as I determine just what I want my next step to be with that tale, and to my everlasting surprise, _this_ story is actually experiencing far more activity in terms of ideas and a progressing storyline.

And to borrow a time-honored sports metaphor, when you're at the derby, you run with your strongest horse.

Now mind you, this isn't a decision that I make lightly. I fully expect there to be consequences for my choice. Narratives my not match up entirely, revisions may become necessary at a later time, and spoilers regarding future events within the "Blues" narrative may be unavoidable. Indeed, some of the more perceptive individuals among us may be able to deduce the ending of that story long before I even write it. Such are the risks I take by publishing this story here and now, but as reality stands at this moment, I can see no other clear course of action.

So now, in a time slot far earlier that I expected, I give you the next installment of my "Where Eagles Dare" story arc: _The Rise of Rhodighan!_

(Insert trumpet fanfare here.)

Enjoy and be kind…

_…Please?_

* * *

**~Chapter One ~**

Dank…

Dark and dank…

Those were about the only terms that could adequately describe the quaint little corner of Hell that she now found herself in. The interior lighting had never been the best in the world, and years of deferred maintenance had reduced even _that_ to a shadow of its former self. In fact shadows were about the only thing being projected throughout this concrete cavern, except of course for the pungent smell of mold and stagnant water: Both courtesy of storm drains that were even more neglected than the lights, provided that such a thing was even possible.

"_Ah, the wonders of Eastern-Block engineering…"_ she sighed inwardly. _"Nuking this pig sty would have only improved things."_

Muttering an unspoken oath, she checked her watch for what seemed the fourteenth time in as many minutes. Her contacts had yet to show, and although they weren't technically due for another few minutes yet, it still ground her beans to no end. They were big shot businessmen of some sort, and although the identity of their corporate allegiance was a mystery, it really didn't matter to her. What mattered was that they conducted themselves as typical suits: Aloof and uncaring, wholly unconcerned for those around them and oblivious to the inconvenience such carelessness caused.

"_Just who the heck are these yahoos, anyway?"_ She groused to herself. _"And what's with all the crazy-ass clandestine meetings? Always in an empty parking garage or an abandon warehouse… Always in some Eastern European hell hole somewhere… It's like they've got some strange, cold war fetish going on. Either that or they watched one too many James Bond films at some point in their lives."_

The only answer to her thoughts was the rhythmic dripping of water and the occasional squeak of a foraging rat, his furry form concealed within the cloak of darkness that enveloped the cavernous spaces of the empty parking structure. She growled ominously under her breath, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her knee-length black leather coat. Turning up her nose at the damp chill that hung in the air like the scent of death, she began mentally counting off the hundreds of things she'd rather be doing right now and praying to all that was holy that her contacts would show themselves soon. The quicker they arrived, after all, the quicker she could get paid and the quicker she could get her butt on a plane and away from this upholstered toilet of a city.

"My dear lady, you seem to be early." A voice suddenly called out from the darkness.

"_Finally!"_ she sighed to herself.

"Don't 'dear lady' me bucko," she snarled, "and I might point out that you're early too!"

"Fair enough." The voice admitted. Through the veil of darkness it was just possible to make out the form of a trench-coated figure; a man of average height and somewhat heavy build, and flanked by two men of equivalent description. Although only the one of them spoke, their postures and body language bespoke men of power and position, while quiet confidence radiated from behind sunglasses similar to her own.

"We trust you are enjoying your stay so far?"

"Yeah, Sarajevo is beautiful this time of year." She snarked. "Between the smog and the bums on the street corners, it's the garden spot of the Balkans."

"By that description, so is Los Angeles." Her mysterious contact chuckled.

"Moving _on!"_

"Once again, fair enough." The man resignedly sighed. "So what have you to report?"

"Same old, same old. Your _'investments'_ are progressing as planned." She panned, the emphasis she placed on the word "investments" clearly indicating her disdain for the trite euphemism. "They've pretty much got all the advanced theory aspects down pat and we're starting work on specialized techniques."

"Excellent. And how long until the completion of your 'asset-building' program?" the same shadowy figure asked, his darkened features as unreadable as ever.

"Look, let's drop the dime store euphemisms and cut right to the quick, shall we?" she impatiently barked. "Martial arts and combat training don't take to well to timetables. It's a complicated and very personal discipline, and everyone absorbs it at his or her own pace. You want an estimate of when your goons will be ready for whatever little party it is you have planned? Soon: Probably by the end of the month. You want something more specific than that? Tough cookies! If you wanted to keep a schedule, you should have become a bus driver!"

The trio of shadows silently regarded her as she quietly seethed beneath their unreadable stares. Understanding and tolerance had never exactly been part of her skill set, but these dunce bags went above and beyond the call. From their cloak-and-dagger procedures to their near-obsession with secrecy to the irritating way they constantly nosed-in on her progress and nit-picked her methods… It seemed as though the entire point of their miserable existence was to find new and creative ways of annoying her. It was enough to make her question why… why in the name of everything that was good and pure… did she ever decide to go back into the evil tutoring business. There was a reason she had never used that blasted teaching credential after all.

"Very well then." Her shadowy companion finally spoke again. "Since you have evidently fulfilled your end of our bargain so far, we shall fulfill ours."

With that, the figure to his right his pulled a dark briefcase from his coat and placed it on the damp, concrete floor. He stood and straightened his coat before giving the case a swift kick that sent it sliding across the grimy surface, coming to rest just inches from the toes of her own boots.

Keeping a wary eye on her shadowy companions, she knelt down and popped the clasps that secured the lid. Behind her tinted glasses, green eyes brightened at the sight that greeted them: Dozens and dozens of paper bundles, all of them bearing a crisply printed portrait of a young-looking Benjamin Franklin.

"Ahhhhh." She sighed. "I do _so_ love the color green."

"Would you like to count it?" the man asked.

"Do I need to?" she shot back ominously.

"No. Not at all." He replied, as unfazed and emotionless as ever. "So if there are no questions, that concludes our business for now. You will receive your final payment upon successful completion of your specified obligations."

"No problems here." She confirmed. "But mark my words, if before this is over, you clowns do something stupid and bring down the heat on me, then there won't be a corner in the world dark enough or deep enough for you to hide in."

The leader of the small group simply chuckled at the threat, eliciting a raised eyebrow from his contracted employee.

"My dear Miss Go, that is hardly a reason for worry." He explained. "None of us here have yet done anything illegal."

"Come again?"

"I ask you, what crime have we committed? All we have done is hire you to provide instruction in basic martial arts theory to some of our top employees. On its face, it is no different than the health and wellness programs implemented by many major corporations."

"So then why the hell did you drag me across halfway the continent to meet you in this makeshift monument to mildew?!" she yelled, her booming voice echoing through the expansive space.

"Because we're parked right over there."

Suddenly the darkened space was bathed in an eerie green hue, and for the first time since the exchange began, the trench-coated trio seemed nervous.

"Uh, we can get you validated… if you'd like." The man on the left offered as an awkward, conciliatory gesture.

Just as quickly as it had arisen, the glow faded, and the solitary figure turned, tucked the case under her arm, and walked quickly away, her form being almost immediately swallowed up by the inky blackness.

"_Patience Shego, patience."_ She silently repeated to herself. _"If you fry their butts now, there'll be nobody to pay your last invoice."_

Retreating quickly from the source of her torment, she quietly resolved to set aside any dreams of a bloody, plasma-fueled vengeance…

_At least until the final check cleared._

* * *

When one thinks of a modern city, there are many images that come to mind. The tendency is to visualize a skyline dominated by an assortment post-modern high rises, their straight lines and glass facades lending a sense of clean efficiency to the surrounding landscape. We conjure images of wide avenues dominated by streetcars and pedestrians, rather than tangled masses of noisy, fume-spewing automobiles. We have an expectation of greenery: of parks and public spaces dedicated to bringing some measure of nature to this most unnatural environment. And beneath it all we envision an extensive subway system, quickly and efficiently shuttling thousands of people about without any interference upon the surface world.

In short, we think of Rotterdam.

As the second-largest city in Holland, this metropolis has long been viewed as one of the great trend-setting centers of the world. Situated where the Rhine and Meuse Rivers join the North Sea, its history as one of the great crossroads of Europe was established centuries ago, and it continues this tradition even today as it hosts both the largest port on the continent, and some of the largest corporations in the world.

And it was within the halls of one such corporation that a particular set of events was now starting to unfold. Cloaked in secrecy behind walls of glass, nods of acknowledgment were passed silently through halls and corridors. Memos were passed and memorized, then quickly and quietly destroyed. Office chatter was at a minimum, leaving the water coolers in a state of eerie silence. Even their occasional belching seemed to be more subdued than normal.

And through it all, three dominant figures strode. Groups within the hallways made way, parting like the Red Sea as the trio purposefully strode ever deeper into the maze of corridors. Left here… right there… elevator down three floors… left again. Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth they went, until finally they were alone: Alone with nothing but the sound of their own footfalls and the electric buzzing of fluorescent lights.

And it was in the acoustic seclusion of this space that they finally felt free to speak.

"So why is it that our subcontractors always turn out to be such cooks?" one of them pondered.

"Dunno, Leopold." One of his companions replied. "But it sure seems to be a pattern. Remember the hemophobic surgeon?"

"Or the hostage negotiator with anger management issues?" Leo offered in return. "I swear, we place one Internet want-ad and suddenly there's whackos coming out of the woodwork."

"You know, there's just something about a good mace." The third member of the group whimsically observed, gradually twirling the medieval weapon that he had been carrying since they had arrived. "The weight… the balance…"

"Seriously Heinrich, would you put that blasted thing away already?" the second member of the group protested. "It creeps out the staff, and to be honest, it _is_ more than a little weird."

"Oh c'mon, Otto." Heinrich retorted. "You're gonna tell me that you've never enjoyed the feel of a particular weapon?"

"Enjoyed, yes. But what you're doing borders on fixation, my friend." Otto shot back.

"Hardly." Heinrich scoffed. "I just like the way it handles is all. I swear, holding it in you hand… you just want to haul off and smash something, you know? Just wind up and…"

It was at that exact moment that a hapless clerk emerged from an adjoining hallway, a billowing bubble of pink chewing gum obscuring most of his face.

"_Whoa-oh-oh-oh baby."_ Heinrich gasped, starting in the staffer's direction.

"Easy there, Attila. That's our ringer for the office softball team." Otto admonished, roughly grabbing his friend by the collar and dragging him toward a nearby office. "We'd like him to have all of his bodily appendages intact for when we play the Amsterdam branch next week."

Moments later, the door of that office clicked closed and the trio found themselves standing in stark silence before their superior. His steel-eyed gaze bore deep into each of them as he regarded his three underlings, divining unspoken truths about the nature of their mission from the nearly imperceptible ways in which the stood and moved.

"So, Team Six." he finally spoke. "What have you to report?"

"As expected sir, Project Point Guard is progressing on schedule and according to plan." Leo informed the distinguished gentleman seated behind the sizeable mahogany desk. "The subjects are performing in a satisfactory manner and there are no apparent complications at this time."

"I see." The senior manager said, steeping his fingers in thought. "And our hired help?"

"Ornery as ever sir, but so far living up to her end of the bargain."

The manager closed his eyes and laughed lightly at the thought.

"That's Miss Go for you." He chuckled. "'The professional pit bull' as we like to call her."

"Sounds like an apt description, sir."

"Indeed." The boss admitted, shaking his head lightly. "But while she may be a world-class hard-ass, she's also the hands-down best at what she does. And need I remind you that if our plans are going to bear fruit, then we're going to need every bit of talent that we can muster."

"Yes sir!" the three of them barked out in unison.

"This is big, gentlemen: Perhaps the biggest thing we've ever attempted." The boss continued, his gaze drifting thoughtfully towards the ceiling. "It's the culmination of over two hundred years of hard work… The realization of the very reason for our existence. Everything that we have done up until now; the founding of Rhodighan Industries, building it into a Fortune Five Hundred corporation, acquiring advanced technologies through corporate mergers… It all leads to this moment. In two weeks time, when we make our move against our accursed and eternal enemy, success or failure will hinge upon how well we have prepared ourselves to this point. I don't need to remind you of Sun Tzu's opinions on the subject, do I?"

"That the true general does not enter into battle until he knows that victory is already assured?" Otto volunteered.

"Very good." His supervisor replied. "I see you've been reading your 'Art of War.'"

"Yes sir."

"Very well then." The manager observed, shuffling some of the many papers that lay scattered across his desk. "So moving on to other matters then, the 'destructo-bot' joint-venture with HenchCo: I need someone to help coordinate with the… uh… I'm sorry. Was there something else you wanted to discuss, Heinrich?"

"Huh?" Heinrich grunted, quickly directing his attention to his superior. "I'm sorry sir."

"Oh it's nothing, really." The boss smirked. "I just never took you for an art lover."

Heinrich glanced nervously at the plaster bust that he had been staring at moments before.

"Ah, well… I just… ummmm…" he stammered, awkwardly fidgeting with his mace.

"Give it here." The boss sighed, reaching out across the massive desk.

"But… but… _awwwwwww!"_ Heinrich whined, passing the spiked club over to his supervisor.

"You can have this back when the meeting is over." he stated, dropping the blunt instrument into the bottom drawer of his desk and closing it with a thud.

* * *

When it comes to the subject of international affairs, the world map can perhaps best be viewed as a playing field of sorts: A grand stage upon which geopolitical heavyweights strut their stuff and determine who amongst them can best lay claim to the title of "global superpower."

And in keeping with this sports metaphor, the players within this game can more often than not be sorted in a manner similar to the seeding chart of a tennis tournament.

First, there is the handful of perennial favorites: Major players whose names are near household words within popular culture. Names such as America, Great Britain, France and Russia populate this short list, their credentials of size, history and documented military might thoroughly known and acknowledged by all involved.

Then, there are the underdogs. These are the nations of smaller stature within the international community. With landmasses and militaries that are easily dwarfed by those of the larger players, the odds are often stacked against them. But yet even _they_ can occasionally pull the proverbial rabbit out of the hat, and as such the wise political odds maker always hedges his bets toward the eventuality that one of these second bananas will strike it big.

And finally, there are the also-rans: Nation-states and principalities so small and insignificant that not even the most optimistic of diplomats would ever dare hope for anything greater than continued survival. These are the great "unknowns" of the geopolitical world: Few persons being aware of their existence… Fewer still even caring.

And so it was for the tiny kingdom of Rhodighan. An island principality about 60 miles off the southern coast of France, it had broken away from that nation during the chaos of the Hundred Years War and gained its independence soon after. Small and often overlooked, it had existed in relative obscurity for the nearly 600 years since that day, its people wresting out a sustenance lifestyle from the land while the centuries rolled by, and the rulers and conquerors of Europe came and went like the cycles of the tide.

Throughout the years, as the nearby continent was plunged repeatedly into war, the people of this island nation saw little of the destruction that plagued their northern neighbors. In the 1940s, while Europe burned and the whole world trembled beneath the threat of Nazi oppression, the island's rulers and citizens hardly seemed to notice. They were small potatoes to the madman with the mustache, and they took solace in that knowledge. Global fascism would never be bothered with stooping so low as to touch their island paradise.

Two world wars, a cold war, the rise and fall of Communism… The impact of all these things was hardly felt across the idyllic hillsides and quaint communities of this most pastoral of places. The modern world had little use for such a place, and the residents here had little use for the modern world. It was an arrangement of mutual indifference, and it served all parties well.

And it worked _especially_ well for the ruler of this diminutive realm.

In dealing with the problems of a society untouched by modern maladies, King Wallace the Second found life a much more relaxing affair than his counterparts on the world stage. When he awoke each morning, the aging sovereign was not confronted by issues such as pollution, global terrorism and spiraling deficits. For the average citizen, the greatest problem faced was how to milk an uncooperative goat, and the king's own existence was all the better for this fact.

It was a fact not lost on him as he leaned casually on the marble railing that rimmed one of the palace's many verandas, allowing the warming rays of the Mediterranean sunrise to wash over him. Gently sipping his morning coffee, he gazed out at the brilliant spectacle of his capitol and the azure blue harbor beyond.

Like many of the islands in this part of the world, the Isle of Rhodighan was in fact the remnant of an ancient volcano that had long ago been reclaimed by the sea from which it had sprang. To its southern side, a broad crescent-shaped bay marked the outline of the former crater, and from these sparkling turquoise waters stretched a brilliant white beach that quickly gave way to row upon row of neatly arranged, whitewashed buildings.

Clinging to the slopes of the primordial caldera like cupcake batter on a bowl, the houses and shops ascended the hillside at an ever increasing angle until finally, soaring mightily above all else, the gleaming vestige of the royal palace sat precariously perched atop the ridge. All together, it was a scene worthy of any postcard, and for the few individuals who were actually aware of this small city-state's existence, it was the image most closely associated with it.

But this was just one small part of the overall picture of Rhodighan. For while the island's population may have been smaller than that of many apartment buildings, it's overall land mass was actually quite respectable. Spreading north from the ridge that dominated the capitol city's skyline, the land gradually sloped into a broad coastal plain with smaller ridges branching off from the main spine of the island and running toward the coast. For the most part this was open grassland, dotted by the occasional grove of cypress or pine and bearing a few small streams that made their way down from the higher elevations before draining into the sea.

There was little in the way or permanent human settlements here, the area being predominantly occupied by bands of semi-nomadic shepherds and goat herders. Tending to their families and livestock alike, they continually moved about the island's interior, ever searching for greener pastures and better grazing.

Closer to the coast, small fishing villages sprouted up from the surf line, occupying any spot where the beach was conducive to landing and launching boats. Most of these coastal communities could claim no more than a few dozen full-time residents, but one such town near the island's northeastern corner boasted a population of over 500. Known to its residents as _Cadeau de le Mer,_ it featured a broad beach and a mountain backdrop similar to that of the capitol. For this reason, Cadeau de le Mer was often referred to as "the second city of Rhodighan."

Overall, the island resembled a cookie with a large bite missing… or a severely deformed kidney. But whatever description one used, it was an exceedingly tranquil corner of the world with a rural ambience that would have left Thoreau beaming with glee.

But such matters of geography were currently far from the mind of the aging monarch. As he serenely sipped his coffee, his mind turned introspectively toward issues of his own house, and of his own offspring.

His brow furrowed slightly as he considered the current state of affairs regarding his only son. Much to his own consternation, and in spite of his best efforts, young Wallace the Third had continued to fall short of his father's expectations. The boy simply showed no aptitude in developing the traits necessary for effective governance. Even with near constant tutoring and his own heartfelt counsel, the younger Wallace still failed to grasp the gravitational seriousness of the role he was destined to step into.

Granted, he had stated his intentions to abolish the monarchy when his time upon the throne came, and truth be told the young prince's aspirations toward a democratic society were a source of great pride for his dear old dad. But such monumental reforms don't happen overnight, and any governmental change of such magnitude is rife with risk. Things such as fraud, abuse, oppression and undue influence by foreign powers are all obstacles that must be faced when changing a society in such a fundamental way. The path to reform was fraught with peril, and its successful navigation required the ship of state to be protected by a steady hand on the tiller…

And "Weak-Link Wally" was fast proving to be little more than an unskilled, excitable cabin boy.

Wallace stared deeply into his coffee, as if trying to divine some hidden truth from its aromatic depths. It was a constant burden, worrying about whether his own flesh and blood would ever make the grade, and it was continually wearing him down. It was, in fact, an age-old issue, faced by the patriarchs of nearly all ruling families, down through the years. It had been true for the Caesars of ancient Rome, for the monarchs of medieval Europe, and even for the prominent families of the modern world.

This final fact was something that Wallace was actually grateful for, as it gave him a small collection of peers who truly understood his problems. Over the past several months he had spent many an hour on the phone with his friend George in Texas. Now _there_ was a man who knew what it meant to have the apple fall a long way from the tree.

But hope springs eternal, and time was still on Wallace's side. Only a week before his doctors had pronounced him "as healthy as a horse," and baring any unforeseen tragedy, he could expect to yet enjoy another 20 years upon this earth. Maybe… just maybe… that 20 years would see his son mature enough to put his ways of childish narcissism behind him, and finally grow into the distinguished statesman that his father had always hoped he would one day become.

Was it a long shot? Maybe. The blind optimism of a doting parent toward his progeny? Perhaps. But it was all that King Wallace had to hang his crown on at the moment. For now, it would have to do.

And there were yet more issues to be regally confronted…

Issues such as that odd-looking smoke plume…

The one that seemed to be rising directly from the center of the city.

Now ordinarily this would not be a cause for alarm, as the city enjoyed the protection of a thoroughly modern fire department. When such structure fires inevitably occurred, they were invariably doused with top-notch efficiency. No, it wasn't the presence of this fire that worried the monarch, but the speed with which it had appeared. While such small fires would normally grow slowly over the span of several minutes, this one had seemingly come out of nowhere, almost instantly blackening a large portion of the sky.

His sense of foreboding was only strengthened as this one fire was quickly joined by others, sprouting up across the city like grotesque flowers emerging from the soil with the first rain of spring. From his mountaintop perch, he could almost feel the chaos and panic spreading like wildfire through the population below, and he could sense that this was somehow just the start of much bigger things to come.

He was therefore unsurprised when the frantic footfalls of an aide could be heard rapidly approaching across the paving stones behind him. Plaintively, he turned to face the ashen-faced attendant, almost hearing his words before the nervous young man had even spoken them.

"Your Majesty, we have a problem…"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well here it is… Another original, multi-chapter work from yours truly. I swear, I must have a deeply embedded masochistic streak lurking somewhere within me, because I can think of no other reason to be embarking down this road once again.

A quick word of warning to my readers: As it stands right now, this story promises to be somewhat of a departure from my normal style of writing. The current outline involves several background characters from the show, at least one original character, a major expansion of Global Justice's operational capabilities, and the exploration of some concepts that I've previously never dared attempt to address.

As is usually the case with the exploration of uncharted waters, I make no guarantees regarding how any of this will turn out. I might wind up surprising everyone, (including myself, most likely), or I may just wind up sucking air. In any case, it's bound to be better than yet another f&$#ing installment of the "High School Musical" franchise, so at least I've got that going for me.

And as a final note, I'd like to thank site-member Hang Tuah for being the source of inspiration behind this tale. It was his suggestion that started this whole ball rolling, and for more than the past year we've been trading e-mails, bouncing ideas off of each other as we fleshed out the more troublesome details. Without his input, none of this would be happening. Thanks again, buddy!

Oh, and the name _"Cadeau de le Mer"_ is a French phrase meaning "Gift of the Sea." It seemed an appropriate name for a fishing village.

Sooooooo… After centuries of waiting, the Knights of Rhodighan have made good on their threat, and not even promised reforms could deter them. How will the world respond to such unprovoked aggression? And how will this affect the lives of our two favorite teen heroes?

All in due time, my friends… All in due time.

As always… read, review and recycle… and I'll catch y'all with the next chapter.

Toodles!

_Nutzkie…_


	2. Justice Will Not Stand!

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Two ~**

It came swiftly, striking without warning like a thief in the night. Like a giant tsunami spawned by some distant temblor, it rose up from the sea and crashed upon the shore with merciless efficiency, sweeping over the land and laying waste to all things foolish enough to stand against its overwhelming and unquestionable power.

For more than two centuries, the Knights of Rhodighan had held fast to their vow. Nursing age-old grudges as they passed them from one generation to the next, they bided their time and gathered their forces, moving so slowly on occasion that many believed them to have given up their vendetta entirely.

But there is a distinct difference between lying down and lying low, and the Rhodighan Knights understood this intimately. Like the river crocodile that pretends to be a harmless log, there is value in appearing innocuous. For the age-old dance of threat and defense is set to the tune of perception, and that tune can take many forms. Ambitious participants study the dance card ravenously until they have memorized every step and note…

Experienced ones tip the bandleader.

For at the end of the day, the ancient adage still rings true: Old memories seldom fade, and bad habits die hard.

And so it was that to spite decade upon decade of threat and suspicion, when the Knights finally launched their masterstroke and claimed their long-sought vengeance, hardly anyone was expecting it. The armed forces of the island, poorly trained and even more poorly equipped, were quickly brushed aside by rank upon rank of autonomous battle droids, backed up by units of elite shock troops bearing weapons and training that would be the envy of any modern military. With the precision and efficiency of a world-class surgeon, they carved a bloody path through the limited resistance, bypassed a shell-shocked citizenry and seized all points of strategic importance. Transportation and communication networks were seized, as were power distribution and law enforcement facilities. All institutions of power and civil authority had capitulated within a few hours, and by noon the enemy was within the walls of the royal compound itself. The day that had dawned so bright for King Wallace II had turned into a living nightmare: Himself and his entire family placed under house arrest, prisoners within their own home.

…And all of it before lunch.

* * *

Purposefully stalking through the sterile corridors of the massive complex, a tall, slender figure cut a swath of confidence as it passed swiftly through a labyrinth of corridors and hallways. On the occasions when others encountered this image of authority, they smartly drew themselves to attention and yielded the way, some even going so far as to salute. Everything about this person, from their dress to the way they carried themselves screamed of someone who carried the mantle of command and demanded the respect of all others. This was a person in control.

Turning a corner and ducking into a spacious office, she allowed the door to fully close behind her before she dared let the carefully polished aura slip. Being the Director in Charge of the world's pre-eminent law enforcement agency was no small task after all. The demands carried by the position were mind numbing in both their scope and frequency, and she was only human. She could only hold the façade for so long before reality would eventually peek through.

With a mighty sigh, Betty Director slid down into the oversized captain's chair and glanced across the expansive desk before her. For once, the view actually brought a slight smile to her face: At least half of the polished mahogany surface was visible today, a figure vastly improved from most days when more than 80% of the finely-finished wood was obscured by one mountain of paper or another. Admittedly, the world had been a somewhat quieter place than usual for the past few weeks, and it was something that she took a slightly guilty pleasure in. When the people and politicians of the world finally decided to be nice and play well with others, her job became a whole lot easier.

But on a deeper level, she couldn't help but feel somehow apprehensive about it all. For in her own past experience, such good fortune also carried with it an ominous implication: a promise that the other shoe was about to drop.

Any further rumination on the subject was cut short by a sharp knocking at her office door. Quickly drawing herself upright in the chair, she re-assumed the aura of authority with the speed and efficiency of a quick-change actor switching costumes, and bid her guest to enter.

"Good morning Ma'am." The young and slender man with vaguely Asian features stated in a stiff monotone that gave no indication as to whether the morning was truly good or not.

"Good morning, Agent Du." Betty reciprocated. "Or it will be if you brought the item we discussed previously.

"Right here, precisely as you requested." Will Du snappily replied, setting a large, ceramic mug down on the polished surface of the desk. "Double sugar, double cream."

"Mmmmm. Remind me to put you down for a commendation." Betty said, eagerly accepting the offering. Somehow, she just didn't feel like herself until she'd had her morning pick-me-up.

"So are we ready to proceed then?" she casually asked after taking a long, luxurious pull from her cup.

"Indeed we are, ma'am." Will confirmed. "I have all the materials required for your morning briefing right here." For effect, he patted the manila folder that had been tucked snugly beneath his arm since he had entered.

"Very well then. Proceed."

Withdrawing the folder and smartly flipping it open, he took a moment to study the first page before starting.

"As you're already aware, ma'am," Will started in, "the world's supervillains have been maintaining a low profile as of late. We believe this is due to several factors, including seasonal climate changes, recent increases in sunspot activity, and anticipation surrounding the release of HenchCo's new fall lineup."

"Anything special this year?" Betty asked, taking another sip of coffee.

"For the most part, their product line appears unchanged. However, intel suggests that they _will_ be introducing a new line of energy-star qualified death rays. Oh, and the catalogue will be using a new high-gloss paper this year."

"Wow. The printing's gonna cost them plenty."

"Retail is all about presentation, ma'am."

"Very well. What else?"

"Security at the pentagon was breached yesterday by two hip-looking teenagers with a pack of mentos."

"Pass."

"The President's speech to the U.N. General Counsel was last night, as you're aware." Will continued. "Highlights include his statements welcoming foreign dignitaries to New York and inviting them to get out and do some shopping while they're there."

"And how well did that go over?"

"A little too well, it would appear. The Chinese bought eight banks, two car companies and the state of Wyoming."

"Figures." Betty groaned, burying her face into her cup once more. "Anything else?"

"Well, there _is_ this one item that some clerk over in European Diplomatic Affairs slipped in at the last moment." Will informed. "It's probably not even worth mentioning, though."

"And yet you mention it."

"Well I didn't get to be a top agent by not being thorough."

"And you also didn't get there by keeping your boss in the dark." Betty replied, narrowing her one good eye at her young protégé.

"Yes. Well, (ahem), it's a rather short brief… really." Will nervously stammered. "A _brief_ brief, if you will."

"I won't."

"Of course you won't. Anyway, it simply says that there's a developing situation in a small Mediterranean nation. Some place called…" He squinted at the paper before him, trying hard to make out the clerks hurried chicken scratches.

"_Rhodighan."_ He finally determined. He then stared at the paper in utter confusion.

"Where the heck is _Rhodighan?"_ he pondered aloud. "Isn't that a place in some C. S. Lewis novel or something?"

"Trust me, it's real." Betty admitted. "Although you're not the first one to think otherwise. Does the report say anything else?"

"Just an event code." Will replied. "If I'm reading this right, of which I can only be about eighty percent certain, it claims a code 'Bent Spear – Echo Five Foxtrot.'"

Betty spit a mouthful of coffee across her desk.

"Ma'am?" Will asked concernedly, moving to his commanding officer's side. "Are you all right?"

Betty simply waved the junior officer off.

"I'm fine, agent Du." She coughed, quickly regaining her breath. "But I want you to clear my schedule for the rest of the day. And tell the division chiefs for European Operations, Central Intelligence, Combat Ops and Diplomatic Protocol that I want to see them in my office five minutes ago!"

"Yes ma'am!"

"And get the Secretary General on a secure video conference line, stat! I don't care if you have to drag him out of the damn bathtub to do it!"

"Right away, ma'am." Will confirmed, turning to leave as Betty began frantically clearing items from her already sparsely populated desk. But when he reached for the doorknob, he felt compelled to stop and look back.

"Doctor Director?" he asked. "Just what exactly is happening right now?"

"Trouble." Betty replied succinctly. "Trouble of the worst kind."

* * *

"Two pairs of tube socks, a gallon of concentrated processed cheese sauce and the "Bricks of Furry" DVD box set. That'll be $26.53."

"Not if I use my Smarty Mart employee discount."

"Very well… Ten percent off then. Do you collect our 'Smarty-Saver' stamps?"

"Doesn't everybody?"

"I'll take that as a yes." The checker sighed, subtly glancing at her watch and grimacing when she realized just how young the day actually was. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Yeah, actually. Do you have any snew?"

"Snew?" the checker blinked. "What's snew?"

"Oh, nothing… What's new with you?" The young man in front of her grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

The next thing he knew, the world around him went dark as an entire sheet of discount redemption stamps was roughly plastered over his face.

"Next!"

The young customer sighed dejectedly and made his way toward the exit, navigating from pure memory, his impromptu blindfold negating any visual cues.

"Seriously Rufus, why do those things always sound funnier when they're still in my head?" he asked dejectedly, once he was safely outside the store.

"Hurk, dunno." The tiny mole rat squeaked, climbing atop his owner's forehead. He spit into his paws and took a firm grip on the offending item before giving a mighty tug.

"YEEEE-OWCH!" Ron shrieked at the sudden stinging sensation. He quickly reached up to rub his now reddening cheek. "Well at least I won't have to worry about shaving for the rest of the week."

"I don't think so, beard-boy." A familiar voice suddenly called out from behind him. "Or else it's ixnay in the lip-smacking department."

"Oh, hey KP." Ron replied, turning around, still rubbing his sore face. "Didn't see you back there."

"That's not surprising. From what I just saw, it looked like you were trying to mail yourself." Kim panned. "So what happened?"

"Nothing big. Just a slight misunderstanding at the check out counter."

"Trying to be witty with the cashiers again?"

"Affirmative." He groused.

"Ugh… Ron, don't you remember what happened last time you tried that?"

"Aw geez, did you have to bring that up? I swear, you get stuffed inside _one_ plushie prize machine and people never let you forget about it!"

"Not when they're the one that had to spend eight bucks in quarters to get you out, they don't."

"Okay, okay… Fair enough I guess." Ron finally conceded, anxious for a switch to a less embarrassing topic. "Although to be totally honest, you could have been more careful with that claw thing. I had the mother of all wedgies for a _week_ after that."

"You know, I _thought_ you were walking funny."

"Sister, you don't know the half of it."

"So anyway," Kim shifted, "what are your plans for the afternoon."

"_Meh,_ dunno." Ron shrugged. "Getting my shopping done was pretty much tops on the list. After that, I hadn't really gamed it out yet."

"Cool! Wanna catch a movie?"

"Wait! You're not working today?"

"Nope. Inventory went so well that we finished up early." Kim gushed. "Since that was the only reason Monique had me on the schedge, she told me to take the day."

"Coolio!"

"I know. Isn't it?"

"So what do you wanna see?"

"I was thinking maybe that one you've been going on about lately." Kim suggested. "You know… The one with Michael Douglas, Charlie Sheen and Freddie Krueger."

"You mean _'A Nightmare on Wall Street: Freddy Invests'?"_ Ron enthused. "Badical! That thing's got everybody in it!"

"Everybody?" Kim raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe not _everybody."_ Ron admitted. "But it's got a ton of big names. Jack Nicholson as the sadistic stockbroker… Nathan Lane as the hapless SEC agent… Bernie Madoff as himself…"

"Ugh. Please Ron… I just ate." Kim protested.

"Oh, sorry." Ron apologized, quickly picking up on his girlfriend's discomfort. "You really sure you wanna see this one?"

"Sure, why not?" Kim admitted with a shrug. "After all… _You're_ the one who will be facing the screen."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean, 'I'm the one who will be…' oh… _ooooooooohhhhh…"_ His sentence trailed off as he grasped the not-so-hidden meaning in Kim's words: Something that drew a lascivious look from her and a blush to beat all blushes from him.

"If we hurry, we can catch the matinee showing at the mall." Kim said huskily.

"Uh… ummm… Yeah! We can _(cough)_ catch it there, at the… _(ahem)_… place." Ron stammered in a just barely coherent fashion.

_*Beep-beep-dee-beep*_

"Or Wade could chime in." he groaned, his momentarily lapse in speaking ability suddenly gone.

Raising her wrist to her face, Kim took a moment to shoot the offending device a glare that would have put a glacier to shame, then keyed the "acknowledge" button to receive the call.

"What's the sitch, Wa… wa… ahhhhh… Doctor Director?" Kim stammered in shock at the eye patch-clad figure that stared back at her from the Kimmunicator's diminutive screen. This was not the greeting she had been expecting.

Fortunately, the same could not be said for the head of Global justice, who seemed completely unfazed by Kim's awkward greeting.

"Greetings, Kimberly." Betty Director began in her characteristically professional tone. "I trust you are doing well?"

"We are for now." Ron pointed out, sliding up behind Kim. "But somehow, whenever you call us, that ship tends to sail."

"Ron! Some professional courtesy, please?" Kim admonished in a coarse whisper.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Ronald." Betty replied. "And for the record, Kimberly, your partner is unfortunately correct in his assessment." She admitted.

"Figures." Kim sighed. Like it or not, Ron was right: When one received a personal call from Betty Director on a secure line, it was never good news.

"So what's the sitch?" she finally asked, silently slipping into mission mode.

"There's been a major political development in southern Europe." Betty explained. "There's not a lot I can tell you over these channels, but the assistance of Team Possible is being requested."

"Is this request a local authorities thing or a Global Justice thing?" Kim asked, already wondering what her team's role would be in any operation with geo-political overtones.

"Both." Was Betty's matter-of-fact reply.

"Whoa. Heavy!" Ron gasped.

"Ditto." Kim agreed.

"As it stands right now," the one-eyed crime czar continued, "you're both to report for duty aboard the Thor, at which time you'll receive a more thorough briefing. That is, of course, if you're willing to accept the mission."

"Wait! You're giving us a choice?" Kim asked. "Usually with these things you just fill us in and we go."

"True," Betty admitted, "but this mission goes beyond your normal scope of operation."

"H-h-how far beyond?" Ron nervously asked.

"I'm not at liberty to say right now." Betty somberly admitted. "But needless to say, if either of you don't feel comfortable taking on this assignment, our organization will be more than understanding."

Those words gave Kim pause. Although she hadn't said as much, the tone in Betty's voice more than indicated the true gravity of whatever it was that was being asked of them. There was no way of knowing what this road held in store for them, but it was a near certainty that it would be challenging: Perhaps the most challenging thing she had ever attempted.

Uncertainty was an unusual and uncomfortable position for Kim to find herself in, but that was exactly where she now stood. With grave consequences to both sides and painfully little information to go on, she was effectively shooting blind: Set to make a potentially monumental decision with the academic equivalent of a coin flip.

Plaintively, she glanced over to where Ron stood, searching for answers in those deep brown eyes that always held so much certainty for her, even when all else was in doubt.

"Do what you think is best." Ron softly said, laying a gentle and reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Whichever you decide… I'm with you."

The smile that creased her lips was brief but meaningful, conveying all the love and gratitude her heart had to offer. That was all she needed to know: That Ron was with her. As long as she had that, then she could truly do anything.

"Alright, we're in." she stated emphatically, returning her focus to the tiny device on her wrist. "Just tell us when and where."

"Our technicians are patching the pertinent data through to your plane's onboard nav systems now." Betty informed. "Everything should be ready to go by the time you get there."

"Copy that. You can contact your field commanders and tell them we're on our way." Kim snappily replied.

"Very well then. Good luck, Team Possible." the Director answered. "Betty Director, over and out!"

"C'mon Ron! Time's a-wasting!" Kim prodded, slinging her purse over her shoulder and starting back toward her car.

"I still wanna see that movie." Ron groused under his breath, dutifully following the receding form of his girlfriend, although at a somewhat more sedate pace.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well, I guess there's really not that much to talk about here. Everything so far seems pretty self explanatory: After more than two centuries of waiting, the Knights of Rhodighan have finally made good on their threat. (Do these guys know how to hold a grudge or what?) As expected, the international community is appalled by such a brazen act of aggression, and its up to the ever-vigilant members of Global Justice to set things right…

And when the sitch gets dicey, who you gonna call? (No, not the Ghostbusters, smart alecks.) It's everyone's favorite world-saving duo, Team Possible to the rescue! (Wherever freedom is threatened… wherever tyranny reigns… wherever free nacos are being offered… blah, blah, blah…)

Let's just hope that Kim took some advanced placement courses for that international diplomacy degree. Methinks she's gonna need them.

And so ends chapter two of our little tale. Tune in next time when somebody says something to someone. (I'm still working on the details.)

Peace, love, recycle and all that jazz!

_Nutzkie…_


	3. Darkness Dawns

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Three ~**

Dark blue waters sparkled like a sequined blanket of royal velvet. Stretching from horizon to horizon beneath the pale embrace of an equally expansive and cloudless sky, the senses of both enormity and isolation it invoked were overpowering. If not careful, one could easily become lost in it featureless breadth, first losing all sense of direction, then all reference to the horizon. It was an endless, featureless realm, encapsulated within a continuous spectrum of ever-shifting blues. It was sensory deprivation at its finest.

And 20,000 feet above it all, a sleek and menacing shape cut through the still air like a scalpel through tissue paper. Cruising along at just over half throttle, its 600 mile-per-hour speed constituted little more than a leisurely jaunt for such a high-performance bird.

"What's the good word, Ron?" Kim asked from her position in Sky Rat's rear cockpit.

"Well there's so many, ya know?" Ron casually responded. "But personally, I've always been partial to 'transcendental.'"

"Huh?"

"Well it has such a nice ring to it. It just sort of rolls off your…"

Kim lowered her shielded face into her hands and sighed deeply.

"I meant the good word as pertains to the current _mission."_ She pointed out.

"Oh. Then all systems nominal, proceeding as planned."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"I won't." Kim panned. "Anyhooooo, it looks like were getting close to the rendezvous point. The fleet should be coming into view pretty soon."

"How soon is pretty soon?" Ron inquired, shifting in his ejection seat to get a better view of the controls. He made a few quick adjustments of the radar, confirming that he was in vertical-scan mode and lowering the azimuth to sweep for surface contacts.

"About ten minutes." Kim replied, quickly working her own controls and bringing up a high-resolution GPS image of their current track. "Better start bringing her down."

"Roger that. Prepare for descent pattern."

Gently, Ron dropped the Tomcat's nose and pulled ever so slightly back on the throttle. The great bird responded by slowing almost imperceptibly and gradually dropping toward the empty ocean below.

Ten minutes later, that same ocean was anything but empty.

From her position behind Ron, Kim could only stare in slack-jawed amazement at the array of ships that now filled the ocean below. She had expected to find the familiar sight of the Thor waiting to greet them, flanked by the equally familiar forms of the Boreas and Notus. And while these three gargantuan vessels were certainly both present and prominent, over a dozen other ships comprising all manner of shapes and sizes now surrounded them. The most immediately noticeable of these were three more carriers, far smaller than the Thor to be sure, but none-the-less threatening in their appearance. Behind these sailed a pair of what appeared to be transport ships of some sort, although from her current altitude it was difficult to be sure.

Slipping ahead of the advancing armada as they continued their descent, more ships soon came into view. Glancing off their left wing, Kim could see that the Boreas and Notus were no longer alone in their escort duties. Beyond these battleships sailed an entire ring of smaller warships, and beyond that even smaller vessels dotted the sea, forming a first line of defense against any and all encroachment.

As the left wing dropped and Ron began the wide, sweeping turn that would take them back toward the stern of the Thor, Kim noticed the dark form of a submarine's conning tower, cutting through the gentle swells like the dorsal fin of a giant and deadly shark. It was all so much: Far more than would be required for a simple peacekeeping mission or a pre-emptive strike against some villainous enclave. No, to collect this level of firepower in one place only meant one thing: This was a force that was going to war, and for the first time in her life, Kim found herself questioning a previous decision. Doctor Director had warned her that this mission would be big, but until now she hadn't truly appreciated _how_ big, and the realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

Suddenly, she found herself confronted by an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation: The suspicion that she may have finally bitten off more than she could chew, and that thought brought with it a whole slew of even more uncomfortable questions. Should she say nothing and plow ahead? Were her fears rational? Should she back out? Would Global Justice even let her at this point? And what about the damage to her reputation if they did? These questions and a thousand others swirled about her head like gnats swarming on a warm spring evening, and the outside world began to dim behind the buzzing, obnoxious haze.

"Yo KP? You still back there?"

"Huh? Wha… what'd you say?"

"I said 'can I get a wind check, please and thank you?'" Ron replied. "There's crosswinds on the flight deck and I'm a little concerned."

"Oh right. Sorry."

"Are you feelin' okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Ron." Kim quasi-lied.

"Are you sure? Because we've got some of those little bag things up here if you need one. Well, Rufus and I made a hand puppet out of one of them, but still…"

"Seriously, Ron. I'm just fine." She insisted. "Winds are from the north-northeast at one-four knots. Quartering slightly from port, but nothing serious."

"Okeedokee then." Ron enthused, cracking his knuckles before resuming his grip on the throttle and stick. "Gear is down, ditto for the hook, flaps are at three quarters and we are cleared to the slot. Roger ball!"

"Copy that, Mad Dog."

"And Rufus! Get down off the heads-up display, would ya buddy? You're blocking the velocity vector!"

"_Hnnk… Sorry."_

"I swear, it's like flying with a chubby pink crucifix when you're up there."

"Heeeeeeyyy!"

The cramped cockpit was filled with the annoyed chittering of both man and mole rat as the mighty interceptor roughly touched down; joining rubber tires and steel deck once again.

* * *

"So what's the deal with all the heavy hardware?" the redhead asked as she swatted her auburn locks away from her face for what seemed like the eight thousandth time in the last three minutes.

Standing on an exposed catwalk high in the Thor's island-like superstructure, the entirety of the fleet was laid out for all to see. Known by the equally colorful and ominous nickname of "Vultures Row," the view this location presented was nearly without equal. But monikers and the history behind them were the farthest things from her mind as she stared intently at her companion, taking careful note of his posture and mannerisms as he leaned thoughtfully on the rail and began his explanation.

"Well you gotta understand, I don't know _everything_ about these tubs." Ron began.

"All right. I get that much." Kim prodded.

"But what I _do_ know tells me that we're looking at some sort of amphibious operation."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Those things, for starters." Ron said, pointing back toward the three smaller carriers that were currently steaming off the Thor's stern, large naval guns protruding ominously from sponsons set to either side of their blunt-nosed bows.

"And those would be?" Kim prodded. Ron could certainly be talkative when he wanted to be, but sometimes it took a concerted effort to keep his mouth moving.

"Well, from what little scuttlebutt I've gathered so far, we call them the Alecto, the Megaera and the Tisiphone."

"From the 'Three Furries' of Greek mythology, right?" Kim asked, already being pretty sure of the answer.

"Bingo! I see _somebody_ was paying attention in Western Religions class." Ron smiled in confirmation.

"Well one of us had to."

Ron's smile quickly faded.

"Sorry." Kim quickly apologized. "So what are they exactly?"

"Helicopter carriers… Or amphibious assault ships, if you want to be all technical about it." Ron explained with a well-deployed pair of air quotes. "They've got hangars full of choppers and bellies full of landing craft. Each one carries about a full battalion, so there's a lot of muscle there that can be put ashore on pretty short notice."

Kim nodded silently in agreement. Her previous assessments of the situation were proving well founded.

"So then what about the 'ring of fire?'" she asked, gesturing to the multitude of escort vessels that surrounded them.

"Extra protection, I guess." Ron said with a shrug. "There's not a lot we know about the sitch right now, so command isn't taking any chances. When in doubt, carry a bigger stick."

Kim had to nod with that statement. Given the circumstances, it seemed like a prudent move.

"So those ships are _what_ then, exactly?" she asked.

"Well they _were_ Spruance-class destroyers." Ron continued to explain. "But now they're attack cruisers."

"Heavy modifications?" Kim smirked.

"If you don't give the engineers something to do, they get bored and start building crazy stuff like self-aware kitchen appliances and junk." Ron admitted.

"Self-aware kitchen appliances?"

"You should see the refrigerator they came up with." Ron resignedly sighed. "When you're over-eating, it actually talks down to you."

"Okay, sticking a pin in that and getting back to the topic at hand…"

"Right! Anyway, those are for fleet defense, as are the frigates."

"The smaller ones further out?"

"Exactly. Former Perry-class boats."

"Ships!"

The pair spun on their heels at the unexpected entrance of a third party.

"In the navy, they're called ships." A junior officer in smartly pressed fatigues corrected.

"But what about the Abyssal?" Ron queried. "That's a boat, isn't it?"

"It's also a sub." The officer explained. "Subs are boats; we in the surface navy aspire to something higher than what those bubbleheads on the Abysmal are satisfied with."

"If you say so." Ron concurred. "So what's up, anyway?"

They're ready for you in briefing room two, sir… ma'am." The young officer informed the pair, nodding respectfully to both of them.

"Okeedokee then. Tell them we'll be right there."

"Yes sir." And with a casual salute he was off on his appointed errand, leaving the young couple alone with the breeze once more.

"The _Abysmal?"_ Kim asked, turning to Ron and cocking an eyebrow.

"Their pet name for Abyssal." Ron conceded. "Even within the Eagles, the war between submariners and surface-dwellers rages on."

"Apparently." Kim smirked as they both started toward the hatch that would lead them down three decks and to their current destination.

* * *

"Have a seat, you two. Thanks for coming on such short notice."

"No problem at all, Commander Concor, sir." Ron said as both he and Kim took their seats in the spacious briefing room.

"Glad to hear it." The commander stated. "Now I realize you're probably anxious and more than a little curious about why you're here, so I'll get right to the point. Two days ago, a small island nation in the western Mediterranean was invaded by a hostile foreign power. So far the occupying forces have managed to seize total control of the national infrastructure and centers of government."

"Wow! Actual governmental efficiency." Ron breathed heavily. "Who would've thunk it?"

"With this country, it wasn't hard." The commander continued. "The land mass is respectable, but in terms of population, well let's just say there're coffee shops with greater density."

Suddenly Kim got the chilling suspicion that she knew where the conversation, and indeed they themselves were headed. A quick glance over to Ron confirmed that he was thinking the same thing.

"In fact, you were selected for this mission based on your previous experience with some of the primaries involved."

"Bingo!""Ho boy!"

"It's a small principality known as…"

"Rhodighan." Both teens stated simultaneously. Somehow, neither one of them thought to call a "jinx."

"Figures that you'd be on top of things." Concor smirked. "Anyway, we've put together a plan for retaking the island and returning power to its rightful owners. It's complicated, but we think it's a winner. From here on, it will be referred to as 'Operation Tsunami.'"

"Phase one is a two-pronged amphibious assault." He continued to explain as a large map of the island appeared on the video screen behind him. "Ground units supported by BDM-4 armor will deploy from the assault carriers and hilo in via our Super Stallions and Sea Knights, and take up positions here along this ridge." He highlighted an area of higher ground near the island's northeast shore. "These forces will seize control of the mountain passes and block the roads, preventing any counterattack while the main body of the force is ferried ashore on el-cacs."

"I'm sorry. El-cacs?" Kim inquired, politely raising her hand.

"Assault hovercraft." Concor clarified. "They're faster and more versatile than traditional landing craft, and more stable in rough seas."

"Ah, gotcha."

"Moving on then," Concor continued, "supported by AH-1 Sea Cobras and AV-8B Harriers from their own ships, the main force will take this small village and consolidate their hold on the area with the mountain units. This should provide us with a secure beachhead from which to base operations."

"And then we move inland and kick their butts, right?" Ron enthusiastically broke in.

"Wrong."

"S'cuse me?"

"We _don't_ move inland. At least, not right away."

"But you just said… and with all those… and the… Okay man, you just lost me." Ron sighed.

"This is only a feint, Commander." Concor stated. "Such a large build up is certain to draw an enemy response, and as they move their forces east to counter our threat, it will leave _this_ region wide open." He indicated the expansive coastal plains of the island's northwestern quadrant.

"And that's where you'll 'drop in' to say hi." Kim observed, more as a statement than a question.

"You catch on fast." Concor admitted with pride. "There'll be an airborne drop in this area, forty-eight hours after we hit the beaches. With any luck, the enemy will have already committed the bulk of his force to the eastern flank by this point, leaving the back door wide open for us to simply walk through. It's a classic one-two punch." He added with a self-satisfied smile.

"And what sort of forces will we be dropping, sir?" Ron inquired, madly scribbling notes in a spiral-bound notebook.

"Mostly infantry with light armor support." Concor informed the pair. "BDM-series vehicles and some self-propelled artillery will make up the bulk of the muscle, although there'll be a few mechanized infantry units as well."

"And how are they being deployed?"

"C-17 Globemasters from the mainland. The Thor will provide fighter cover over the drop zones, but we're not expecting much resistance in the air."

That statement got both teens' attention.

"None, sir?" Ron asked in confusion.

"Well it's not exactly _nothing, _I suppose." Concor acquiesced. "The enemy has so far managed to seize all Rhodighonian military assets, but to say the Rhodighonian air force is antiquated is like calling Martin Smarty a mildly successful businessman. There're a few dozen SA-342 choppers for ground support and a handful of Alpha Jets to fill the air defense role. Beyond that, we can confirm the presence of at least two S-2 Trackers equipped for maritime patrol duties, but those birds are so old they belong in museums, not combat."

"Okay then, not to question the chain of command sir," Kim tentatively asked, "but if there's no aerial threat, then why call in Ron and me?"

"Yeah, dude." Ron readily agreed. "I mean, you're totally sick with pilots here. I'm sure most of the rookies could handle that glorified flying club you just described."

"That would be true," Concor explained, "but your assignment is not with air operations this time around."

"_And here comes the other shoe."_ Kim mentally sighed.

"Before any part of this operation can take place, the enemy's greatest advantage must be neutralized, and that's where you come in. You see, a key element of the enemy's strategy involved seizing the royal palace and placing the royal family under house arrest. By threatening the safety of these key individuals, they can effectively hold all hostile military operations at bay."

"And you want us to sneak in and take that trump card out of their hands." Ron offered.

"_Bingo! Size six, right on schedule."_

"Exactly!" the Commander confirmed. "Tonight, at twenty-two hundred hours, you'll both be deployed at a point one mile due east of the island under cover of darkness. Ingress will be from a CH-53 via thirty-thirty insertion."

"I'm sorry. Thirty-thirty insertion?" Kim inquired.

"You jump from an altitude of thirty feet and a speed of thirty knots." Concor explained. "And you jump naked."

"WHAT?!" both teens screamed in unison.

"Oh calm down you two." The Commander sighed. "That just means you don't get parachutes when you go."

"Oh, well that's better." Kim exhaled, settling back down into her seat.

"But only slightly." Ron added, nervously tugging at the collar of his shirt. The idea of jumping from _any_ altitude without a chute was something that put him off his lunch, and for Ron Stoppable that was no small feat.

"You'll be equipped with a small RIB to get you ashore, from which point you'll proceed on foot to the palace compound and infiltrate the security perimeter by whatever means you find at your disposal. Once inside, these will be your objectives."

The large digital map behind Concor suddenly disappeared and was quickly replaced by the image of a face both teens knew very well.

"This is King Wallace the Second: Sovereign and Royal Monarch of Rhodighan." Concor clarified. Although our intelligence inside the palace is somewhat spotty, we believe that he is being held in the royal family's private living quarters, which is composed of these rooms here, on the third floor of the south wing." The map shifted and zoomed in to reveal a detailed floor plan of the area in question.

"Now in addition to himself, King Wallace is accompanied by one other person of note."

Kim inwardly cringed; wishing she could somehow hide from the specter of what she knew was coming next.

"This is Prince Wallace the Third."

"_Called it."_

"I take it your paths have crossed?"

"Huh?" Kim's eyes shot up at the Commander's question.

"You were wincing, Miss Possible," he knowingly smiled, "so I'm willing to bet my hazard pay that the two of you have met."

"Uhhh, wellllll…"

"We've had the pleasure, yes." Ron volunteered for his nervously stammering girlfriend.

"Well don't worry." Concor chuckled. "Wincing is a common response after meeting 'Weak-Link Wally.'"

"So's frustration, nausea and unprovoked violence." Kim muttered under her breath.

"Fair enough." The Commander shrugged. "Moving on then, once you have secured the safety of the two objectives, you are to escort them _here,_ to what we're designating as 'Point Icarus.'"

"And why do I get the feeling this is where I come in?" Ron sighed.

"Your intuition serves you well, Lieutenant." Concor confirmed. "Point Icarus is a private landing strip about three-quarters of a mile from the palace gate. It's used mainly by visiting dignitaries, but the Royal family also maintains a small fleet of executive jets for their own purposes. Make your way to the strip by whatever means you find at your disposal, 'borrow' an aircraft and get the Hell out of Dodge."

"And exactly where do we bug out to?" Ron inquired, raising a finger to interrupt. "'Cause unless they build Gulfstreams with tail hooks, I'm gonna have a hard time keeping things dry."

"That's why you'll be going to the mainland instead." Concor explained. "We'll have a reception team waiting on the ground in Cannes."

"So that's it?" Ron asked. "Just grab the Royals and split?"

"Essentially." Concor conformed once again. "Once the VIPs are secured, the operation can proceed as planned. We'll hit the enemy hard, squeezing the bulk of his force between our two fronts, and push them southward into the capitol. Once they're bottled up in an urban environment, our training and equipment should give our forces a distinct advantage. Any further resistance from that point will be quickly subdued."

"Well that doesn't seem so hard, now does it?" Ron smiled, glancing over at his girlfriend. The redhead, however, did not mirror his expression.

"Tell that to all the guys with guns that will be coming after us." She muttered. "And that reminds me: Exactly what _are_ we going up against here?"

"As it stands right now, intel indicates two primary types of ground forces in place." Concor described, bringing up yet another graphic on the screen. "The first is a typical infantry asset." The screen showed a computerized image of a typical soldier, dressed in camouflage fatigues, bearing a field pack and carrying an assault rifle. "Armaments can vary, ranging from AK-47s and SKS weaponry to sniper rifles and light machine guns. We also believe some units to be equipped with RPG-7 rocket launchers. Basically, any ex-Soviet small arms that they were able to scrape together on the black market."

"Or Smarty-Mart in Kabul." Ron added.

Both Kim and the Concor stared at him incredulously.

"Whaaaaaat?" he whined.

"You're kidding, right?" Concor asked disbelievingly.

"Aisle sixty-three." Ron confirmed. "Right between Camel Chow and Falafel Helper."

"I don't even want to know _how_ it is that you know that." Kim groaned, shaking her head in resignation.

"Meh, it comes with the territory." Ron shrugged.

"Any-whoooooo… Moving on then…" Concor continued. The graphic now changed again, revealing an image that both teens were already familiar with.

"Additionally, the enemy has deployed several units of destructo-droids such as this one." Concor continued. "These are autonomous machines that require very little in terms of input from their human controllers. They were first developed some time ago by a certain mad scientist who goes by the name of…"

"Doctor Drakken." Kim observed.

"And Doctor Freeman." Ron pointed out. "Don't forget, the toaster whisperer was a big part of it too."

"_*Ahem*_ Yes, well in any case," Concor pressed on, "the design has since been developed and improved upon by HenchCo. We now believe them to be equipped with laser cannon, positronic disruptors and mercury missiles. Improvements have also been made to the armor shielding, but we believe this to be oriented more toward protection against energy-based weapons. This guy is should still vulnerable to a good old-fashioned bullet, provided you hit him in the right place."

"And exactly where is that place?" Kim plaintively inquired.

"The head, for starters." The Commander explained. "This is where the majority of the sensors and stabilization gyroscopes are located. Beyond that, several key hydraulic systems and the central processing computer are housed in the chest area beneath this armored plate. If you can penetrate that, you'll most likely disable the whole unit."

"Good enough." Kim mumbled, taking careful mental notes. This was quickly shaping up to be one of the more dangerous missions they'd undertaken, and she wasn't about to have it go south for lack of effort on her part.

"And this brings us to the subject of equipment." Concor pressed on. "For the purposes of this mission, we've obtained the services of an outside consultant. I think you'll find he has extensive expertise in outfitting high-level operatives such as yourselves.

The video screen on the wall now changed once again, this time revealing the smiling face of…

"WADE!" Kim screamed, clearly glad to see such a familiar face amid all of the recent uncertainty.

"Wade, my man!" Ron grinned. "Since when are you on board for this sitch?"

"Since Doctor Director called and gave me the scoop." The young computer guru smiled in return. "When she briefed me on what you guys are gonna be doing, I just had to help out."

"So what have you got for us?" Kim asked, her demeanor entirely one of business.

"Check under your seats." Wade instructed. The pair did as they were told, and each quickly retrieved a satchel wrapped in brown paper.

"Open 'em up."

Once again, both teens did as instructed. Kim was the first to peel back the wrapper, revealing a familiar field of brilliant white fabric with accents of electric blue.

"Badical!" Ron enthused, glancing over as Kim held the item up for inspection. "You fixed the battle suit!"

"Not just fixed… Improved." Wade grinned proudly. "And it's not just the one."

"Huh?"

"Check your own package."

"Carefully and hesitantly, as if expecting the item in question to explode at any moment, Ron peeled back the layers of protective packaging. For his efforts, he was treated to a similar sight, this one charcoal gray in color with accents of brilliant goldenrod.

"Beyond badical." He whispered breathlessly.

"I figured it didn't make much sense to only equip half the team." Wade shrugged. "Congratulations, my friend."

"It's… it's…" Ron stammered, tears of gratitude welling up around the corners of his eyes.

"I think what Ron's trying to say is 'thank you' Wade." Kim interpreted for her boyfriend. "Now what was it you were saying about improvements?"

"There's now a digital control panel integrated into the left wrist." Wade pointed out. "I've rigged it so all vital functions cal be controlled from that point. It should give you easy access to whatever you need."

"Spankin'. What else?"

"Pull up the options menu and select the 'chameleon' function."

Kim did as Wade said, and almost instantly the suit changed color, morphing from its usual blue and white to a jungle camouflage pattern of multi-hued green and brown.

"Transmutable fabric dye," Wade explained as Kim looked on in astonishment. "It's essentially a form of situational camouflage. Now, in addition to invisibility, you've got more than two-dozen different patterns at your fingertips."

As Wade described the ins and outs of this new feature, the suit cycled through a variety of camo patterns. From jungle print to desert to arctic to a solid black scheme that she could only assume was for night operations. Every possible environment seemed to be covered. Clearly, Wade had outdone himself this time, even by _his_ standards.

"Additionally, Mister Lode will be serving as communication officer and tactical liaison for the purposes of this mission." Concor concluded. "Since you're all accustomed to working with one another, we believe this arrangement will provide the smoothest integration of all operational assets."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Kim agreed, neatly tucking the suit back into its wrapper. "So what's next then?"

"Now, you both go grab some chow on the mess deck, then get some sleep." Concor instructed the team. "Twenty-two hundred hours comes sooner than you'd think."

"He's right, Kim." Wade concurred. "You'll both need to be rested for this. And don't worry. I'll be with you guys every step of the way."

"Thanks Wade. Really." Kim sighed. Truth be told, she did feel substantially better about the whole sitch, knowing that her trusted tech advisor would be in his normal chair. Between having Wade on call and Ron at her side, things didn't seem quite as overwhelming as they might.

"Very well then." Concor stated, stepping out from behind his podium. "This concludes the briefing. Good luck, Team Possible… And Godspeed."

And with those final words, Concor turned and strode purposefully out of the room. Likewise, Wade signed off with a wink and a friendly thumbs up, leaving the intrepid teen heroes alone together.

"So I guess that's that, huh?" Ron observed, closing the cover of his notebook.

"Yeah, I guess so." Kim sighed again.

"Nothin' to it but to do it."

"Pretty much."

"Sooooo… Early dinner then?"

"Yeah, c'mon." Kim agreed, getting up and heading for the door. "The Commander is right about one thing. Ten o'clock is gonna come a lot sooner than either of us would care to admit."

* * *

Darkness can be a strange beast. In purely technical terms its nature is quite benign: Nothing more than an absence of the visible radiation we most commonly refer to as "light." When it descends, it does not change the nature of the environment any more than it changes the nature of light itself. There is truly nothing present in the darkness that is not present in the light of day.

But such certainties do little to soothe the tribulations of an over-stimulated imagination. Without the visual points of reference that illumination provides, the darkness becomes a blank canvas upon which the mind can project its greatest anxieties and fears. A cavalcade of presupposed disasters and worst-case scenarios can come alive within this inky void, giving form and breathing life into all manner of worry and dread.

Such was the ordeal now being faced by a tortured young soul as she stared blankly into that very void. The darkness surrounded her like a cloak of uncertainty as her mind raced through a psychological loop: A broken, mental record, replaying the events of the last few hours over and over again until they seemed to take on lives of their own.

And with those same memories came the second-guessing: Something that seemed so alien to her. Questions about the decision to accept the mission and her ability to meet its requirements plagued her like locusts, each thought chilling her in a way that the threadbare hockey jersey of Ron's that she currently wore as a nightshirt was unable to prevent. She had thought that she'd laid such troubling questions to rest…

It turned out she was wrong.

With the darkness as a fertile field for her own insecurities to take root and flourish, she sought shelter from the raging storm inside her, clinging to the one point of stability she could find.

It was situations such as this where Ron truly proved himself invaluable. For to spite all the hype of her global celebrity and oft-described "savior of the world" status, the great Kim Possible was still very much a human being, and suffered from all the frailties and shortcomings that such things entail. She had her bouts with fear and self-doubt, just as any other person did. The difference in her case was that her celebrity status often precluded her from showing such fears. She was expected to be Supergirl: An unflinching, unyielding, ever fearless bastion of strength. She wasn't allowed to be human.

And so those fears would build: Bottled up inside of her, slowly growing in both number and strength. She was strong to be sure, and could hide a great deal within herself. But eventually, indeed inevitably, the weight would become too much for her petite frame to bear, and it was in such moments of weakness that she would turn to him.

Cradling her in his arms as if she were a frightened schoolgirl, Ron would take her burden unto himself, allowing her to become human once more. She would vent all of her worries and woes into his tender embrace, regaining her strength and renewing her soul in the process. He was the emotional anchor by which her world was kept steady, even amidst a teaming sea of uncertainty and doubt.

And so she clung to her anchorage, lying there in the darkness with her arm around his torso; her chest pressed firmly against his back. Through each wave of anxiety she held on fiercely, drawing reassurance from his mere presence, allowing the fear to dissipate across them both.

This emotional connection was one of many reasons that they shared such a close bond between them: A bond that only seemed to grow stronger with the passage of time. It was a mutual connection between two souls that she wouldn't trade for all the riches of the world, and yet still, she occasionally found herself wanting even more.

In prior conversations they had discussed the issue at length: Just how far were they willing to go? They had long ago given themselves to each other both mentally and emotionally, and they agreed that giving themselves to one another physically was nearly inevitable. But they also agreed that in terms of the more immediate future, they simply weren't ready to take that final step. Emotional maturity was an important aspect in such things, and the consensus was that when the time was right for them… when that most special of moments finally arrived, they would both know it.

But still, the waiting could prove difficult at times. Anticipation itself can be a sensory experience, and sometimes she would find herself wanting… aching… for him to take her unto himself in that way. To consummate their relationship in a manner that left no doubt as to just how they felt about each other, and undoubtedly always would.

But circumstances ultimately are what they are, and such expressions of intimacy were simply not in the cards for this night. But that didn't mean she still couldn't get _something_ more out of their arrangements.

For more than the past hour, Ron had been aware of the turmoil raging behind him. The sensation of Kim constantly tensing and twitching told him of the battle that was being waged inside his girlfriend's head. He knew the demons that so often plagued the young heroine, just as he knew his role in quelling them. He needn't say anything: He need only be there in her time of need. The bond they shared would take care of the rest.

His concern heightened somewhat when he felt her rise up behind him and fidget intensely for a few moments, but calmed once again when she returned to her pervious position. His curiosity was quickly piqued, however, when he noticed the piece of flimsy material that she now held clutched in her hand: A length of fabric that wasn't part of the bedding, and yet was still intimately familiar to him.

Suddenly, the two pools of warmth at his back took on a whole new level of significance.

"Huh… h-hey… KP?" he nervously stammered.

"Mmmm-hmmm." Came the soft response.

"Ya know, not that this isn't, like, totally booyah-worthy or anything. I mean, I can totally dig it… sort of."

"But?"

"But are you _sure_ you wanna go _there?"_

Kim sighed and ever so slightly tightened her grip around his torso.

"No Ron, I'm not going 'there.'" She explained. "It's just that, well… I just need a little something extra right now, all right?"

"Thinking about the sitch?"

"How'd you guess?"

Sensing that whatever was about to happen was a face-to-face sort of conversation, Ron took the opportunity to roll over and stare into Kim's emerald orbs, just barely visible in the near total darkness.

"We talked about this over dinner, KP." He groaned. "Yeah, this one is big. Maybe the biggest thing we've ever done. But Wade is only a Kimmunicator call away, and besides… I'll be right there with you every step of the way."

"I know Ron." Kim moaned. "But don't you see? _That's_ the problem."

"Gee, your confidence touches me." he snarked.

"Oh, that's not what I mean and you know it." Kim growled at her boyfriend's sarcasm. "It's that this mission is _dangerous,_ Ron. I mean _ferociously_ dangerous. We're gonna be dragging two inexperienced, one downright whiny, civilians across hostile territory against hundreds of men with guns who'd like nothing better than to mount our heads on a wall." This last thought made her noticeably cringe, hitting a little too close to home for her comfort.

"I understand that." Ron pointed out. "That's why you've got me for back-up."

"But what if something happens, Ron?" Kim cried out in exasperation. "We'll be in a war zone with innocent people depending on us. We might not be in a position to react if one of us gets hurt."

"Relax, KP." He reassured her, gently stroking her hair. "The Ronster isn't going to let anything happen to you."

"I know that, Ron?" She sobbed into his shoulder, holding him tight and pressing their bare chests firmly together. "But what about _you?_ I can handle myself going down, 'cause as selfish as I know it sounds, I won't be around to deal with the fallout. But if _you_ were to not come back from this one… I don't… I don't know what I'd do!"

"I… I'm sure you'd think of something." Ron scrambled, searching for some words or gesture that could alleviate his girlfriend's current anguish. "After all, you're the girl who can do anything."

"No, Ron." Kim wept softly into his bare shoulder. _"We_ can do anything. You're my whole world, sweetie. You mean everything to me, and if you're not there with me, then I… I don't think I could ever…"

"Shhhh… shhhhhhhhh… There's no need for that kind of talk right now." Ron said, gathering Kim's trembling form into his arms and drawing her close, cradling her as if she were something delicate and precious. "Nobody knows for sure what comes next, so let's not get ourselves all distracted with pesky 'what ifs.'" He continued stroking her long auburn mane as her ragged breathing slowly became more rhythmic and regular.

"Not when there's so much to enjoy in the here-and-now." He added, eliciting a small nod from the lithe, half-naked form that by now had burrowed her face deeply into his shoulder. She sighed and shuddered once more as she drank up the warmth and serenity he offered, partaking of this emotional sustenance as if she would never get her fill.

And within minutes, the two young adventurers were both sound asleep.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

And so… the plot thickens!

Now before I go any further here, let me point out the fact that I realize this chapter was a wee-bit heavy on the jargon. Having said that, it's probably wise to take a moment and familiarize ourselves with the glossary, as it were. So power up your calculators and button down your shirts my fellow info-jocks, because it's time to get your geek on!

_Vultures Row:_ An exposed catwalk and/or platform located along the left side of the superstructure on most aircraft carriers. The origin of this colorfully named feature can be found in the early days of World War Two, when aircraft carriers were a new concept in naval warfare, and landing planes upon them was at best, an inexact science.

Inexperienced pilots and untested procedures proved a dangerous combination in these early days of naval aviation, and it wasn't long before many carriers began sprouting platforms from their aft superstructures. Although small in size overall, these exposed perches were large enough to accommodate one person and a tripod-mounted movie camera. The idea was that when an approaching pilot appeared to be in trouble, the cameraman would start recording, capturing the ensuing disaster on film and ensuring that future generations of naval aviators would benefit from a graphic example of what _not_ to do on approach.

And in a particularly cruel twist of irony, the cameras deployed by the navy in this capacity sported a large, red light above their lenses, which would be illuminated when recording. Pilots quickly learned to look for this light while on approach, knowing that if they saw it, then they were in for a particularly rough ride.

For the pilots serving as human guinea pigs in this grand experiment, the response was somewhat less than complimentary. Often times aboard ship, around the briefing rooms and in the chow lines, one would hear complaints about that darned vulture of a cameraman, always standing up there on that catwalk, just waiting for someone to make a mistake.

Today, more than half a century later, the name is still with us.

_LCAC:_ The Landing Craft-Air Cushioned (LCAC) is a large hovercraft designed to support amphibious invasions by ferrying troops, vehicles and supplies from ship to shore. Capable of carrying vehicles up to and including the 67.5-ton M1 Abrams battle tank, such craft were first deployed by the United States Marine Corps in 1984, although the navies of the United Kingdom, Russia and Greece currently deploy similar craft.

Sometimes referred to as OTB (Over The Beach) craft, these vehicles enjoy the ability to carry their charges far inland from the surf line, effectively bypassing the wide-open beaches that so often served as killing zones on previous battlefields. Additionally, such vehicles are unencumbered by typical coastal topography such as loose soil, sand, and swampy ground, leaving more than 70% of the world's coastline vulnerable to attack. With previous generations of landing craft, barely 15% of that same coastline was accessible.

_Sikorsky CH-53/E Super Stallion:_ One of the largest helicopters in the world, the Super Stallion is the United States Navy's go-to machine when it comes to the job of heavy lifting. First introduced in 1981 as a substantially upgraded version of the venerable CH-53 Sea Stallion, the "Hurricane Maker," as the Super Stallion is known, featured improvements such as expanded payload capacity, a drop-down ramp for cargo loading, improved lifting ability and a dramatic increase in cruising speed.

The design proved so successful that other branches of America's armed forces have since adopted variants as well. The U.S. Army's MH-53 Pave-Lowe heavy transport helicopter is essentially a modified Super Stallion.

But at nearly 30 years old the mighty Super Stallion is beginning to show its age, and with initial phase-out efforts set to begin in 2009, Sikorsky is already working on a replacement. The CH-53/K is currently scheduled to take to the air sometime in 2011.

_Boeing CH-46 Sea Knight:_ A tandem-rotor heavy-lift helicopter currently in use by the United States Marine Corps. First deployed in 1964, the process of phasing out the Sea Knight began in late 2000, with the navy officially retiring the airframe in favor of the MH-60 Nighthawk on September 24th of 2009. The USMC will continue to deploy the Sea Knight for the immediate future however, slowly replacing the fleet with the MV-22 Osprey as units become available. By current accounts, the Sea Knight will remain in service until sometime in 2014.

Incidentally, it's a common misconception that the Sea Knight is variant of the U.S. Army's CH-47 Chinook transport helicopter. While the model numbers of these machines are consecutive and they enjoy striking similarities, they are in fact unique and separately developed prototypes. Notable differences include the Sea Knight mounting its aft landing gear in outboard sponsons and having a distinctively high pitch to its nose when sitting on the ground. Additionally, the Chinook is slightly larger than the Sea Knight, mounts its engines in outboard nacelles, and has four-wheeled landing gear compared to the Sea Knight's three-wheeled "tricycle-style" gear.

_Bell AH-1 Sea Cobra:_ An evolutionary variant of the venerable AH-1 Cobra gunship that first flew during the Vietnam conflict, the Sea Cobra is the primary attack helicopter used by the United States Marine Corps.

With a crew of two arranged in a tandem formation, the Cobra is very slender, making it a difficult target when attacking head-on. Typically armed with Hydra 70 rockets and AGM-114 Hellfire missiles, the Cobra is capable of neutralizing both soft and hard targets, as well as most modern armor. Meanwhile, AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles on wing-tip hard points provide substantial air-to-air capability. Additionally, an M-197 20-millimeter "Gatling-style" cannon is mounted in a nose turret. With a firing rate of 730 rounds per minute, this weapon can literally place a "rain of steel" onto a target without the enemy ever knowing what hit them.

_Boeing AV-8B Harrier II:_ Often referred to as the "Jump Jet," the Harrier is a second-generation Vertical Take-Off and Landing (VTOL) aircraft, normally deployed in a ground attack and multi-role fighter capacity.

Designed to operate from small aircraft carriers and undeveloped forward airfields, the Harrier's ability to take off and land vertically renders it far more versatile than it's fixed-wing siblings that require large runways and extensive ground facilities to operate. Initially developed for the British Royal Navy in the late 1970s, the aircraft was originally designated the GR-7 and suffered from many deficiencies in its design, owing primarily to an underpowered engine.

However, with the introduction of the more-powerful Rolls-Royce Pegasus engine in the 1980s, the Harrier found new life. It is currently still in service with both the Royal Navy and the United States Marine Corps, although long-range plans call for the aircraft to eventually be phased out in favor of the fifth-generation F-35 Lightning II.

For a taste of the Harrier in action, check out chapter six of my story _"Shadows of Angels."_ And bring your airsickness bag while you're at it. (If the motion sickness doesn't get you, the writing will.)

_Dassault-Dornier Alpha Jet:_ In the early 1960s, European air forces began to consider their requirements for the coming decades. One of the results was the emergence of a new generation of jet trainers to replace such classic aircraft as the Lockheed T-33: A variant of the first-generation P-80 Shooting Star.

Two designs soon emerged as contenders for this role: The British-built Hawker-Siddeley T1 Hawk, and a joint project between the French company _Dassault-Breguet_ and the German firm _Dornier Flugezugwerke._ This was the project known as the "Alpha Jet."

First flown on October 26th of 1973, the Alpha quickly proved itself to be fast and forgiving to fly, providing an ideal learning environment for young pilots just cutting their teeth in the world of high-performance jets. Nearly 200 machines were placed into service in this capacity by both France and Germany, but when the German Luftwaffe decided to outsource their pilot training program to the southwestern United States where the climate was more conducive to flying, the German Alphas became surplus.

Loathe to the idea of simply scrapping what had been a substantial investment on their part, the Luftwaffe decided instead to weaponize their trainers, converting these planes to a combat role. The Alpha proved highly adaptable in this way, finding high levels of success in the light strike and close support roles. Today the Alpha still flies with both the French and German air forces, as well as with the militaries of Belgium, Egypt, Portugal and Thailand.

_Aerospatiale SA-341 Gazelle:_ Developed in the late 1960s, the Gazelle started life as a light utility helicopter designed by the French company _Sud Aviation._ Later, Sud reorganized to become Aerospatiale and formed a partnership with the British firm of Westland Helicopters to produce the Gazelle for both French and British use.

Based on the design of the proven Alouette-series helicopters, the Gazelle featured many first-time innovations such as a ducted fantail to reduce tail rotor noise and composite rotor blades, both of which are common features on many choppers today.

Small and nimble, several specialized variants were quickly developed, including versions for close air support, anti-tank duties, air-to-air interception and pilot training.

Currently, the Gazelle remains in front-line service with several military organizations around the world. As of 2008, selected Gazelles of the British Army Air Corps were being fitted with a revolutionary and experimental vocal interface known as the Direct Voice Input (DVI) system. With this system, pilots can control key functions of the avionics and manipulate informational displays with simple voice commands, allowing them to keep their hands on the controls and their eyes on the sky. It is potentially a revolutionary leap forward in the realm of aircraft design.

_Grumman S-2 Tracker:_ The twin-engine Tracker was the first purpose-built single-airframe anti-submarine warfare aircraft ever to enter service with the U.S. Navy.

Designed as a replacement for the AF-2 Guardian, the Tracker held the advantage of carrying both the detection equipment and the weapons payload onboard the same aircraft. (The Guardian system required two aircraft, one for detection and another to carry the torpedo.) This greatly simplified operations and led to reduced crowding on carrier flight decks.

Starting in 1954, the Tracker provided more than two decades of faithful service, but ultimately her piston engines were simply too anachronistic in the modern jet age. In 1976 she was retired in favor of the turbojet-powered Lockheed S-3 Viking: An aircraft that ironically is today more known as an in-flight refueling tanker than an ASW aircraft.

Although a handful of Trackers still remain in service with the Argentine Navy, the vast majority of these rugged birds have long since been either donated to museums or scrapped.

_RIB:_ The Rigid Inflatable Boat (RIB) is a small collapsible boat with a hard keel, usually made of either aluminum or high-density plastic, and inflatable sides of either rubber or vinyl. Its small size and ease of portability make it a favorite means of infiltration for many special-forces teams.

_BMD-Series Vehicles:_ One of the most glaring differences in military philosophy during the Cold War was the disagreement between the Soviet Union and NATO over the proper deployment of airborne forces. While the western nations of the NATO alliance preferred to deploy traditional infantry under the protection of air superiority, Russia and her Warsaw Pact allies relied less on close air support and provided their airborne forces with specially designed armor protection.

For this purpose, a family of light armored vehicles was developed. Designated as the BMD-series, the name stands for _Boyevaya Mashina Desanta._ (Literally, "Combat Vehicle of the Airborne.") Amphibious and capable of either being deployed by helicopter or air dropped with the crew inside, these vehicles afforded a surprising amount of protection to the crew while also delivering substantial firepower and range.

The most notable and perhaps most feared member of this family is the BMD-4. Capable of carrying five fully armed infantry troops and a crew of three into battle, this vehicle offers not only the protection of armor, but also the ability to filter out airborne dangers such as chemical, biological and neurological agents. Packing a 100-millimeter main gun and a 30-millimeter auto-cannon on a co-axial mount, the BMD-4 is actually capable of going toe-to-toe with some of the world's primary battle tanks. Additionally, 7.62 and 5.45-millimeter machine guns, a 40-millimeter grenade launcher and AT-5 Spandrel anti-tank missiles provide enough firepower to support an entire platoon in most operations.

_SKS & AK-47Rifles:_ The _Samozaryadniy Karabin sistemi Simonova_ (Self-Loading Carbine, Simonov's System), or SKS, was a semi-automatic infantry rifle developed by the Soviet Union and first deployed in early 1945.

The genesis of this weapon can be found in the early 1940s, when military planers began to realize that most infantry rifles of the day were too heavy and chambered for ammunition that was too large. Such weapons had been designed with the intention of being effective at ranges of up to 1,000 yards, but by 1942, battlefield studies had proved that most firefights occurred at ranges of 100 to 300 yards. What was needed was a smaller, lighter weapon with a faster rate of fire, smaller ammunition and less recoil.

For Germany, the response came in the form of the STG-44 Sturmgewehr: A weapon that was nothing less than the world's first assault rifle. With selectable firing modes of either semi-automatic or fully automatic, and a smaller 7.92-millimeter cartridge, it was the ideal solution to the problem, and the Red Army quickly noticed its strengths.

Working from captured STG-44s, Soviet designers managed to successfully copy the Sturmgewehr's gas-operated firing system, creating a lightweight and lethal weapon that was accurate at medium ranges and easy to carry. Additional refinements added a fold out bayonet beneath the barrel, slightly smaller 7.62-millimeter ammo and an adapter that could be fitted for firing rifle-launched grenades. It quickly began to replace the bulkier Tokarev SVT-40, which had been the primary semi-automatic rifle in the Soviet arsenal since the war's outset.

Now many people make the mistake of identifying the SKS as an assault rifle, and while it does share many attributes with such weapons, it does not meet all the criteria to be classified as such. Selectable firing modes and a detachable magazine are conspicuously absent.

Sadly, to spite its many advantages, the SKS was quickly overtaken by more advanced designs. In 1947, small arms designer Mikhail Kalashnikov developed a rifle with the same ammunition and firing mechanism as the SKS, but also featuring many other elements that were reminiscent of the Sturmgewehr. Features such as selectable firing modes and a large-capacity detachable magazine were reintroduced in this design, and the resulting weapon was designated the _Avtomat Kalashnikova,_ (Kalashnikov's Automatic Rifle), _Model 1947:_ The legendary AK-47!

_RPG-7:_ One of the most recognizable small armaments in the world, the Soviet RPG-7 is a shoulder-launched anti-tank rocket that can trace its roots back to the closing days of World War Two, when the Soviet Red Army was tightening its stranglehold around the Nazi capitol of Berlin.

During this time, as the last remnants of the once-feared German Wermacht crumbled beneath the crushing weight of the Soviet advance, many caches of German weapons were captured. Among these collections were items such as the STG-44 Sturmgewehr, (the world's first true assault rifle), and a particularly nasty anti-tank weapon known simply as a Panzerfaust. (Literally, "Tank Fist.")

Small and disposable, this one shot weapon was deployed rather effectively by dug in German troops against the Soviets' ubiquitous T-34 battle tanks. Intrigued by the success of their enemy in this regard, it wasn't long before these captured weapons were reverse engineered, and the Soviets began fielding their own version of the weapon: A personal anti-tank weapon designated as the B-30.

Entering service immediately following the end of hostilities in Europe, the B-30 quickly proved itself to share many of the Panzerfaust's strengths, being easy to deploy and deadly at close range. However, it also shared many of it predecessor's weaknesses as well, being woefully inaccurate at longer ranges. In some cases, when deployed from beyond a range of 50 yards, the projectile was said to have all the ballistic integrity of a Frisbee.

The realization of such shortcomings touched off an evolution of design within the Soviet small-arms industry. The large and bulbous projectile of the Panzerfaust, (which had only semi-affectionately been referred to by some allied troops as the "football"), was replaced by a slimmer, more aerodynamic warhead. Folding tail fins were added to stabilize the rocket in flight and rudimentary sights were drastically improved.

The result of this 15-year process of development was the RPG-7. It's initials standing for _Ruchnoy Protivotankovyy Granatomyot,_ (Hand-held Anti-tank Grenade Launcher), the weapon was first introduced to the field in 1961 and deployed on a squad level, and has been standard equipment for many militaries ever since.

Ever since the Vietnam War, nearly every conflict around the world has seen the use of this weapon. A standard part of the arsenal in over 40 countries, nine nations manufacture versions of the RPG-7. Additionally, it has proved a perennial favorite with insurgency and guerrilla groups, seeing extensive deployment in the modern battle arenas of Iraq and Afghanistan.

_Meet the Fleet:_ Okay, so the Eagles have received a substantial upgrade in this chapter.

What? Did you think they could police all the oceans of the world with only three ships?

No, just like any other military force with global projection, size does matter. And to that end, I now give you the expanded Thunder Eagles naval roster: _(F.Y.I: "T.E.S." stands for "Thunder Eagle Ship.")_

_Assault Carriers:_ Often referred to as "helicopter carriers," these vessels differ in purpose from their larger fleet-based cousins in that they're designed to serve as floating bases for amphibious operations.

Capable of carrying up to two fully equipped battalions in their cavernous bellies, many such ships boast an equally cavernous "well deck" in their lower-most reaches, where multiple landing craft and amphibious assault boats can be housed. Vessels of this design additionally boast the unique ability to partially sink themselves, opening a set of massive clamshell doors in their sterns to emit these craft in short order.

And far above it all in the expansive hangar deck, heavy transport helicopters are stored at the ready, along side attack jets and choppers to provide close air support for the troops as they hit the beach and move inland. In the case of the Eagles, three such vessels are fielded, providing a grand total of approximately 3,700 armed combat troops for any operation.

Granted, such ships don't come cheap, and while most Americans would find the concept of overspending on defense to be a contradiction of terms, the Eagles are forced to do things on a budget. To that end, these ships, like so many other aspects of their arsenal, are comprised of second-hand stock: Specifically, decommissioned Tarawa-class assault ships of the U.S. Navy. Their identities are as follows…

_T.E.S. Alecto (CVA-6):_ The namesake of her class, this ship was originally the U.S.S. Tarawa. (LHA-1) In our story however, as Kim pointed out, she is named for one of the Three Furries of Greek mythology, who were said to inflict pain and suffering on misbehaving humans who they deemed deserving of such maladies. (Seems appropriate, considering its purpose.)

But in reality, U.S.S. Tarawa was decommissioned in March of 2009 and currently sits at anchor in San Diego awaiting disposal, possibly to be sunk as part of some unidentified training exercise: An inglorious end for a proud vessel that served her country faithfully for 33 years.

_T.E.S. Megaera (CVA-7):_ Named for the second of the Three Furries, this ship started life as the U.S.S. Saipan (LHA-2). Launched in July of 1974 and commissioned in October of 1977, Saipan was the second member of the Tarawa class, and would spend most of her career on deployment in the Caribbean and Mediterranean Seas. Decommissioned in April of 2007, she currently sits in mothballs at Pier Number Four of the U.S. Navy's Inactive Ship Maintenance Facility in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

_T.E.S. Tisiphone (CVA-8):_ Named for the last of the Three Furries, this ship was originally the U.S.S. Belleau Wood (LHA-3). Known by the colorful nickname of "Devil Dog," Belleau Wood was the first American amphibious assault ship to be home ported outside of the United States, spending most of her career deployed at the Navy's forward operating base at Sasebo, Japan. Sadly, she was sunk in July of 2006 as part of the U.S. Navy's RIMPAC training exercises. Today, she lies peacefully on the bottom, twenty miles due north of the island of Kauai.

Additionally, there are two more members of the Tarawa class. U.S.S. Nassau (LHA-4) and U.S.S. Peleliu (LHA-5) currently remain on active deployment. However, the relentless march of technology does not play favorites, and with ships of the newer Wasp-class growing in number every year, the days of the tried-and-true Tarawa-class are numbered. At some point within the next decade, they will vanish from the seas forever.

_Attack Cruisers:_ Okay, so I know what you're thinking. "How the heck can anyone turn a destroyer into a cruiser?" Well quite honestly, it's not that hard.

Ever since the end of the Second World War, changes in naval strategy and weapons technology have been continually narrowing the gap between destroyers and their historically larger cousins. This perhaps became no more evident than in 1972 with the introduction of the Spruance-class destroyer. Fast and formidable, these floating arsenals were actually built upon the exact same hull as America's Ticonderoga-class cruisers, the two only being differentiated by subtle variations in superstructure design and weapons capability.

But even while many modern navies find themselves in the process of phasing out cruisers all together, the American navy continues improving the design of both categories. In 1991 the process of replacing the aging Spruance class with the more modern Arleigh Burke class began, and to date 30 such vessels have been retired. For the Eagles this has proved a bonanza, allowing them to acquire the following…

_T.E.S. Vortex (CA-200):_ Formerly U.S.S. O'Bannon (DD-987)

_T.E.S. Tempest (CA-201):_ Formerly U.S.S. Merrill (DD-976)

_T.E.S. Typhoon (CA-202):_ Formerly U.S.S. Briscoe (DD-977)

_T.E.S. Cyclone (CA-203):_ Formerly U.S.S. Caron (DD-970)

_T.E.S. Maelstrom (CA-204):_ Formerly U.S.S. Hewitt (DD-966)

_T.E.S. Hurricane (CA-205):_ Formerly U.S.S. Kinkaid (DD-965)

_Fleet Defense Frigates:_ Once feared by sailors as one of the more intimidating classes of warship afloat, frigates all but disappeared from naval rosters with the end of the age of sail in the mid-1860s. Known for their diminutive size and devilish agility, they found themselves rendered obsolete by the larger, iron clad warships of the era, and their role was quickly absorbed by the newer destroyer-type ships then being developed.

But the modern era has brought a rebirth of sorts to the frigate. Advances in computer technology have allowed for the development of smaller and more lethal weapons systems, which in turn have allowed for the construction of smaller and less-expensive ships. The concept of the modern frigate hit home for the U.S. Navy with the advent of the Oliver Hazard Perry-class in the mid-1970s.

Today, with the bulk of the class being more than 20 years old, dozens of these ships now operate with the navies of a half-dozen foreign nations. Australia, Taiwan, Turkey, Egypt, Poland and Spain all operate Perry-class frigates, while dozens more have been stricken from active rosters and either moved to reserve status or scrapped. For the Eagles, the scrap yard has yielded these gems…

_T.E.S. Atlas (FFD-70):_ Named for the Greek god who was said to hold the heavens aloft upon his shoulders, although most popular depictions show him holding the earth instead. Formerly U.S.S. Boone (FFG-28).

_T.E.S. Astrea (FFD-71):_ Namesaked for the Greek goddess of justice. (Notice how when placed together with the preceding vessel, the two names faintly echo the phrase "Global Justice.") Formerly U.S.S. Curts (FFG-38).

_T.E.S. Hephaestus (FFD-72):_ A nod to the Greek god of metal and blacksmithing. (See! There was a _reason_ Kim's dad gave his super-secret project that name!) Formerly U.S.S. Doyle (FFG-39).

_T.E.S. Hemera (FFD-73):_ To the ancient Greeks, this woman represented the goddess of light. Formerly U.S.S. McClusky (FFG-41).

_T.E.S. Ares (FFD-74):_ The Greek god of war. (Need I say more?) Formerly U.S.S. Groves (FFG-29).

_Sub-Par:_ At many times in the game of war, stealth equals strength.

To that end, the Eagles employ a nuclear fast-attack submarine in the role of forward scout. Originally intended to hunt enemy missile subs, (or "Boomers" as the nuclear ballistic boats were known), these "hunter-killer" boats are swift and silent, often producing less ambient noise than the water they displace. For this reason, tracking a hunter-killer has been described as looking for a silent hole in the ocean. Over 360 feet long, such a machine is the ultimate combination of stealth and lethality: The ultimate predator of the depths. But for the Eagles, she's simply known as…

_T.E.S. Abyssal (SSN-800):_ At 361' 11" long and displacing 6,159 tons, Abyssal is a modern-day sea monster, prowling the depths, ever vigilant for any sign of danger. A former member of the Los Angeles-class, she can remain submerged almost indefinitely, her onboard nuclear reactor providing the power to produce her own fresh air and water. The only factor limiting the duration of her deployment: The appetite of her crew. (There's only so much room down there to store groceries, after all.) Formerly U.S.S. Birmingham (SSN-695)

_Support Vessels:_ It has been said many times in the past that an army travels on its stomach.

Such concepts of sustenance also hold true for naval forces, and no such force is complete without an integrated means of supply. To that end, the eagles now field a pair of support vessels…

_T.E.S. Brizo (AO-210):_ Yet another name pulled from the pages of Greek mythology. Named, appropriately enough, for the patron god of sailors. Formerly U.S.S. Monongahela (AO-178)

_T.E.S. Zephyrus (AO-211):_ To ancient mariners of the Mediterranean, this was the god of the western wind: A long time favorite of those who made their living upon the sea, as his presence meant favorable navigation and calm conditions. Formerly U.S.S. Willamette (AO-180)

Launched in the early 1980s, these ships got their start as Cimarron-class fleet oilers of the U.S. Navy, and spent their nearly 20-year careers traveling with the fleet and tending to their charges. In the interim, the most notable achievements of these two vessels was their participation in the Navy's "Jumboization" program, during which their hulls were cut in half and extended by nearly 40 feet, increasing fuel capacity by 30,000 barrels and adding the ability to transport ordinance as well. Today, both these vessels have been retired and sit in mothballs: The Monongahela with the James River Reserve Fleet in Fort Eustis, Virginia, and the Willamette with the Suisun Bay Reserve Fleet in Fairfield, California.

_Hospital Ships:_ It goes without saying that war is a dangerous business. Whenever you take a lot of people who _really_ don't like each other, put them in a confined area and give them things that explode… Well, you don't have to be Stephen Hawking to figure out what comes next.

For this reason, the Eagles also field a fully equipped hospital ship for major operations. And while many will be quick to point out that nearly all navy ships feature a sick bay of some sort, such facilities pale in comparison to the resources available aboard these floating trauma centers. For the Eagles, this purveyor of maritime mercy is known as…

_T.E.S. Asclepius (AH-30):_ Named for the Greek god of medicine, this 800-bed hospital ship was originally known as the U.S.S. Sanctuary (AH-17): A member of the so-called Haven-class. Converted from a cargo ship hull near the end of World War Two, she was originally intended to support the invasion of the Japanese home islands, but she arrived in Pearl Harbor four days after the Japanese declaration of surrender, just in time to be too late. Still, she would assist in the post-war cleanup, evacuating allied prisoners of war from the Japanese cities of Wakayama and Nagasaki to the island of Okinawa.

Decommissioned in August of 1946, Sanctuary would spend the next fifteen years sitting in mothballs before the escalating conflict in Vietnam would bring about her reactivation. Between 1966 and 1971 she would admit over 5,300 patients to be treated in her 20 wards and four operating rooms, making her one of the most heavily trafficked hospital ships of the entire war and earning her eleven battle stars in the process.

Demoted to the role of training ship following the American withdrawal from Vietnam, Sanctuary still managed to complete a three-month humanitarian mission to the Caribbean Sea in late 1973. Today, she sits derelict in Baltimore Harbor, unwanted and unsalvageable due to the presence of Asbestos and PCBs throughout her hull: An inglorious and uncertain future for the last surviving Haven-class ship.

But in the KP-universe however, the ending is a much more happy one. (Flashes a big thumbs-up.) When combined with the 600-bed hospitals aboard each of the ex-Tarawa-class carriers, the Eagles can enjoy the peace of mind that comes from knowing they're more than prepared.

Oh, and as a final note, the description of Ron's new battle suit is based on the work of the late, great KP fanfiction author and all-around good friend Commander Argus: One of the giants within the KP community. His presence on and contributions to this site will be sorely and forever missed.

Well, I guess that pretty much wraps things up for this chapter. Once again I'd like to thank Hang Tuah for all his input on this story. (And I thought _I_ knew a lot about military hardware. Sheesh!) As always, read and review at your own leisure and/or risk, and I'll catch you all with the next installment.

Ciao!

_Nutzkie…_


	4. Once More Into the Breech

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Four ~**

"_Si vis pacem para bellum."_

These were the words his instructors had drilled into him since his earliest days in boot camp. Mercilessly and unceasingly, the refrain had been pounded into his brain through a thousand trials and tribulations; to a point where it's Latin syllables could sometimes be heard echoing through the hallways of his dreams at night.

"_Si vis pacem para bellum."_

"_If you seek peace, then prepare for war."_

It was a phrase whose meaning was not lost on him as he sat in the dimly lit and sparsely appointed cargo bay, checking and rechecking his gear, not so much to ensure that all was in order, but rather to take his mind off the anxiety of the moment.

And anxiety, as he had now determined, was red.

The subdued, red glow from the cabin lights cast an eerie pal throughout the cramped interior of the Super Stallion. The unearthly hue created numerous shadows that fell across the padded quilt-like walls, rendering the multitude of warning and instructional labels barely legible.

His mind momentarily drifted to the popular usage of the phrase "flying the red-eye." Somehow, he didn't think that _this_ was what the term meant.

His mind also drifted to the shadowed figure seated next to him, her auburn locks pulled back into a ponytail beneath her jump helmet and appearing every bit as apprehensive as himself. With intensity in her emerald eyes, she reviewed the team's checklist for what seemed like the twentieth time in as many minutes.

"Okay, down the list one more time!" Kim called out over the roar of the rotor blades. "Grapple!"

"Check!" Ron replied with equal volume.

"Spare charges for said grapple!"

"Check!"

"Kimmunicator and spare batteries!"

"Check!"

"Laser cutter!"

"Check!"

"Knockout gas!"

"Lemme check on that!"

"RON!"

"Sorry! I mean, check!"

"I guess that covers it then, _again."_ Kim sighed loudly, folding the checklist and placing it in her pack with the rest of her gear.

She then lowered her voice and leaned over to speak directly into Ron's ear.

"One more thing." She whispered. "Did you bring your 'little friend'?"

"What? You mean Rufus?" Ron asked. "Yeah, he's right here."

"_Huh-lo!"_ Rufus squeaked, poking his head out from the specially-designed pocket on Ron's new battle suit.

"Yeah, that's great Ron." Kim whispered again, glancing down at the mole rat's jovial form. "But I was talking about your _other_ little friend."

"Oh-_ohhhh."_ Ron whispered back. "You mean mister 'plastic-fantastic'?"

Kim simply nodded in the affirmative.

"Got it right here." Ron softly confirmed, lightly patting the holster that hung from his right hip.

He had taken to carrying the nine millimeter Glock pistol nearly a year before, amid growing personal fears that some of the world's villains were beginning to up the ante. He had done so fully expecting Kim to have a conniption when she found out, and she had in fact done exactly that for a few moments upon his surprise revelation. But surprisingly his girlfriend had warmed to the idea far quicker than he had dared hope she would, and the weapon was now a standard part of his mission equipment, even if he hoped he'd never be called upon to use it.

"Good." Kim softly replied. "'Cause I've got the sinking suspicion we're gonna need it before this is over."

Ron swallowed hard. He didn't like having his own suspicions confirmed in such a way.

"One minute to the DZ!" the jumpmaster yelled over the noise. The teens simply nodded, stood up, shouldered their packs and stepped over to where a small rubber boat awaited them, just inside the chopper's massive rear cargo ramp.

"Aw man!" Ron suddenly whined.

"What? What is it?" Kim frantically asked. This was most definitely _not_ the time for Ron to be forgetting some crucial piece of equipment.

"I've got that stupid poem stuck in my head all of a sudden."

"Poem? What poem?" Kim asked quizzically, thinking that this was a strange time for Ron to suddenly go all highbrow and such.

"You know… That poem that we had to memorize for English Lit." Ron explained. "The one written by that Tennis-ball fellow."

"That's _Tennyson,_ Ron. Alfred Lord Tennyson." Kim clarified with a groan. "And he wrote _lots_ of poems."

"Well this one is pretty particular." Ron stated emphatically. "It's like some kind of loop running through my mind: 'Cannons to the left of them, cannons to the right of them, into the valley of death rode the six hundred…'"

"Thirty seconds!" the jumpmaster shouted as the massive ramp began to lower, revealing the pitch-black sea beyond.

"The Charge of the Light Brigade!" Kim moaned. "Jeez, Ron! Of all the things to think about in this sitch…"

"Well I can't help it!" Ron yelled back defensively, smacking the side of his head for effect. "It just sort of popped in there and now it's stuck! I swear, this is worse than the theme song from 'Green Acres.'"

"Ten seconds!" came the call as the red light above the door began to blink and the inflatable boat before them slid effortlessly off into the darkness.

"Well don't start singing _that!"_ Kim yelled over the combined din of the wind and rotor wash, giving one final tug to the straps of her helmet. "Otherwise we'll _both_ be humming that tune until out twenty-fifth birthdays!"

"You got it, KP!"

At that moment, the flashing red light was abruptly replaced by a solid green one.

"Go! Go! Go!" the jumpmaster screamed.

And with that, hand in hand, the two intrepid teen heroes stepped off the ramp and were instantly swallowed by the night.

* * *

The trip down was one of the quickest descents of their lives. It felt as though their stomachs were suddenly thrust upward into their throats as the solid floor of the chopper gave way to the nothingness of thin air. Without reference points or a horizon to guide them, the freefall had been in every sense of the term, a leap of faith: One could only assume that there was an ocean down there somewhere, and that it was as close as the jumpmaster had assured them it was.

Of course Ron's characteristic screaming during the drop had provided at least some small measure of normalcy to it all.

Popping to the surface and coughing up saltwater, both teens quickly swam through a pitch-black sea toward the electronic beeping that indicated the position of their transportation. It took a minute of intense swimming, but they quickly located their quarry and hauled themselves inside its relative protections.

Groping blindly along the side of the boat's interior, Kim was the first to locate the watertight compartment that held a portion of their gear. Operating simply by touch, she quickly found the night-vision goggles that had been stowed there and handed a pair to Ron before donning a second pair herself.

The pitch darkness of the world quickly took on an eerie green glow as the high-tech devices charged to life, peeling back the veil of night to reveal a surprising amount of detail. Minutes later, both teens had assembled the collapsible paddles that had also been packed with the craft and were under way, stroking furiously toward a darkened shore that the goggles revealed to be little more than a barely visible sliver of land on the western horizon.

* * *

"I gotta wonder, just _how_ closely did Wade measure for these things?" Ron whined as he tugged and prodded his new suit. "'Cause I've got some _serious_ chaffing going on here."

"Shhhh! Less talking, more walking." Kim scolded. Deep within enemy territory was no place for her partner to be running his mouth off.

She sighed inwardly as she pressed ahead; eternally grateful for the small favors that fate had so far thrown their way. Although they had made landfall more than three hours ago, they had yet to encounter any hostile individuals, or anyone else for that matter. Either the enemy wasn't expecting an attack of such a fashion, or they were over-confident in the strength of their own position. Either way, she really didn't care: As long as the bad guys stayed home for the next few hours, she would count herself a happy camper.

Additionally, there was the fact that Wade had come through for them once again. With its characteristic reliability, the young genius's handwork was working like a charm, providing the team with near perfect camouflage. The chameleon feature actually had a built-in chronometer for determining time of day, and by linking it to the suit's pre-existing GPS system, it had the ability to determine the nature of the local topography. The end result was that the system was self-compensating: gradually changing from black to patterned as the sun rose, and adjusting that pattern to match the surroundings. The wearer needn't do anything but turn it on and go about his or her business. "Set it and forget it" was the rule of the day.

At this particular moment it was set to a "dry savannah" sort of pattern, as the team moved along the floor of a dry ravine. Rock outcrops and shrubs provided some measure of cover as they pushed onward through the dry native grasses that carpeted the canyon floor. They moved quickly but carefully, one eye always peeled toward the ridges above them should an enemy patrol appear unexpectedly along the canyon rim.

It was another hour of difficult hiking before they reached their objective, but the route Wade had chosen had been a winner. By using the ravine for cover they had avoided detection and skirted along the eastern edge of the city. Now, with the gleaming white wall of the palace grounds just a scant few yards away, they huddled in the shadow of a large rock and contemplated their next move.

"Talk to me Wade." Kim whispered into her wrist. "We're about twenty feet east of the objective and needing a way in."

"There's a parapet that runs along the top of the wall." Wade informed the team. "Satellite scans don't show any sentries nearby, so if you move quickly you can probably get up there without being seen."

"Then let's go." Kim commanded, and with Ron right on her heels she fairly leapt from her hiding place and dashed to the wall's base. An instant later her grapple was unsheathed from its holster, and with practiced precision borne of a thousand missions, she aimed the weapon straight up and fired, the steel talons of the device striking home with a satisfying clink.

Then, with Ron's arms snugly around her shoulders, she thumbed the retract button and the whisper-thin steel cable began spooling back into its casing, lifting the pair free of the ground and toward the wall's ornately decorated precipice.

The reasons for this arrangement were not entirely clear, even to them. One might suppose that it was a means of conserving precious resources in the field. After all, why use two grapple charges when one will do. But truth be told, such thought-out strategies had never entered into the equation. Bottom line, it was simply the way they had always done it: A seemingly minor detail that had taken on a whole new significance since that magical night when they had crossed the threshold from friends into something much, much more.

But circumstances left little time for such thoughts of physical closeness and intimacy. It only took a few seconds for their vertical journey to be completed, and another moment for both teens to vault themselves over the top and onto the relative safety of the parapet pathway.

"Okay, we're in Wade." Kim informed the young super genius. "Now what?"

"It looks like there's a large open area between you and the palace complex." Wade observed.

"Yeah. It's a big lawn of some sort." Kim confirmed, creeping to the inner edge of the parapet and peeking over.

"Eeeww. And they've got serious _crabgrass _issues."Ron observed.

"That's not the only thing they've got." Wade informed. "Scans are picking up the presence of motion detectors and passive infra red."

"Great." Ron groaned. "So how do we get past all of _that?"_

"Not past it… Under it." Wade grinned. "There's a stairway to your right. It should take you down to a tunnel about twenty feet below ground."

"A secret underground passage?" Kim pondered, thinking back to every clichéd story or film she'd seen on the topic of medieval Europe.

"Looks like it. There's an extensive catacomb structure carved into the bedrock beneath the palace." Wade shrugged. "It could be the remnants of a secret escape route, or maybe nothing more than an unusually large root cellar. In any case, there doesn't seem to be any surveillance in place, so it should get you in unnoticed."

"Now _that_ I like." Kim admitted, glancing to her right and spotting the indicated stairway. "Ron and I are going in. We'll contact you for directions once we're in position."

"Roger that. Wade out." And the tiny video screen went dark.

"C'mon Ron." Kim instructed as she got up and moved stealthily toward the entrance to the stairs. "Time to get to the bottom of things."

* * *

It was a somewhat dampened and grimy team that emerged from the subterranean labyrinth sometime later. The trek through the catacombs had proven itself true to every Hollywood stereotype regarding dank and musty underground creepiness, and the overall experience had been a less than pleasant one.

Pushing upward through a wooden trap door with stereotypically squeaky hinges, the two teens emerged into what appeared to be a kitchen pantry of sorts. A single light bulb hung suspended from a sloped ceiling, indicating that the small room was tucked beneath a set of stairs, and the gently swaying shadows it cast danced across the dim space, providing just enough illumination to see.

To one side, wooden shelves were lined with canned goods and other non-perishables, while the opposite wall sprouted several varieties of sausage, suspended from the rafters and wafting their pungent aroma throughout the confined space.

"Mmm-mmmmm… Well stick me in a turkey and call me stuffing. I think this mission is starting to grow on me." Ron remarked.

"_Nnn-huh. Mmmmmmmm!"_ Rufus enthusiastically agreed.

"You _are_ a turkey." Kim lamented, sparing a backward glance at her team before creeping to the door. "Now get your heads in the game. I'm gonna need you both if we're gonna pull this off."

As silently as a church mouse, Kim crept to the door and gently pushed it open a crack. The limited view revealed a kitchen, far more modern and streamlined than would be indicated by the dingy pantry. The area appeared deserted however, and seemed a clear path to their next objective.

"Okay, it's all clear out there guys" Kim said, pushing the door open slightly more. "Let's roll."

"Ron?"

Puzzled by the lack of response, she looked back, only to find Ron frantically trimming off a large piece of bratwurst with his pocket knife, while Rufus looked lustily on from his perch on Ron's shoulder.

"What in the bloody you-know-what are you doing?" Kim shrieked in a coarse whisper.

"What? It's mission related!" Ron whined defensively.

"Mission related? Really?" Kim prodded, skeptically cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, really." Ron insisted. "I mean, this stuff is _good!_ And it's full of protein and stuff… and… well… those ration packs they gave us really aren't meant for human consumption if you ask me."

Kim had to think about this for a moment. Her prior experience with astronaut food had planted within her a deep mistrust of "ready to eat" meals, and Ron _was_ known for his ability to conjure delectable results from almost nothing. She could only imagine what he'd be capable of with such ingredients at his disposal.

"Alright. I see your point." She conceded. "Just be sure to grab enough for five."

"Five?" Ron asked, scratching his head in confusion.

"Yes Ron. Five." Kim pointed out. "You, me, Rufus and our two tag-alongs."

"Ah, gotcha!" Ron admitted, greedily grabbing a chain of hot links from a nearby hook. "The sausage king will be holding court tonight!"

Kim could only smile at her boyfriend's child-like antics.

* * *

Having found the kitchen to be quite deserted, the team moved quickly to the second floor and began probing the maze of hallways that composed the interior of the palace complex. With Wade as their eyes and ears, the unfamiliar territory did little to impede their progress as they moved steadily southward toward the area marked as the living quarters for the royal family.

They were just starting down a particularly long corridor when Wade's voice crackled over the open com link, about two octaves higher than its usual pitch.

"Heads up, guys!" he frantically shouted. "I'm showing two incoming at the far end of the hall!"

"A little lead time would've been nice, Wade." Kim scolded, her green eyes darting about in search of cover of any sort.

"Sorry! They just popped up on my scan." Wade shouted apologetically. "You'll probably want to find some place to hide."

"Working on it." Kim whispered back coarsely. "If there was just a plant or a piece of furniture or… That's it!"

Grabbing Ron by his collar she roughly dragged him toward an adjacent door, nearly tearing the edifice off its hinges as she unceremoniously tossed both him and herself inside.

"Kim, wait! That room is…" Wade shouted at his team, but the warning was cut off by the abrupt sound of the heavy wooden slab slamming shut.

"Whew! That's what I call a close one." Kim sighed, leaning back against the door in relief. "I don't know what we would have done if they had found us."

"Well that's no really important right now." Ron observed, taking a good look across the room they had just entered. "The _important_ thing is that you know something about poker."

"Poker?" Kim blinked confusedly. "What's _that_ got to do with anything?"

"Because I'm pretty sure we're now a part of _their_ game." He replied, pointing toward the center of the room.

Apprehensively, Kim looked to where Ron was indicating. Sure enough, in the middle of what appeared to be a library of some sort, sat four men in military garb, seated around a large round table. The polished wooden surface was strewn with a variety of cards, chips and other items normally associated with a card game, and the slack-jawed expressions on the men's faces indicated that they were just as surprised by the situation as the two teens they were staring at.

Kim could only smile weakly in return. They had really stepped in it this time.

As for Ron, he did the only thing he could think to do in the sitch: He bluffed.

"Hey guys!" he jovially waved. "Sorry we're late. Whose ante is it?"

His inquiry was met with four chairs being brashly shoved across the room as the men rose to their feet.

"I don't think they're gonna deal us in, KP." Ron whined.

"Gee, ya think?"

"So what do we do?"

"Divide and conquer."

Moving in unison, the two teens split up and moved to opposite sides of the room. Predictably, their opponents did the same, dividing into two pairs as they tracked their teenaged targets. Once this process of delegation was complete, all of the participants readied themselves for what they knew came next.

The first strike was directed at Kim, with one assailant lashing out with a wild haymaker as his companion held back in reserve. Kim artfully dodged the attack and fell back toward the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined the wall behind her. Continuing to dodge and backpedal through a flurry of punches, she stopped her retreat just a few feet short of the rows of leather-bound volumes.

"Boys, boys, boys…" she clicked, back-flipping away from a roundhouse punch and landing gracefully on one of the upper shelves. "Sticks and stones may break my bones…"

With cat-like agility she leapt from her perch and planted the soles of both her boots between the man's shoulder blades. A final shove sent her flipping gracefully to a picture perfect landing in the center of the room, and the man sprawling head first into the shelves behind.

"…But words will really do a number on ya'." She finished with a self-satisfied smirk, turning just in time so see her assailant slump ungracefully to the floor, buried by an avalanche of hardbound texts.

"Doing some heavy reading, KP?" Ron called out as he played a similar game of dodge and retreat with an attacker of his own.

"Miss Hatchet always said that books are our friends." Kim quipped, turning to face her other opponent.

"That reminds me." Ron pondered aloud. "What do you think 'Conan the Librarian' does during her summer breaks anyway?"

"My money's on 'Marine drill sergeant'." Kim quipped, blocking a left jab.

"Really? I figured her to be moonlighting as an off-season linebacker coach for the Cleveland Browns." Ron theorized as he ducked under a vicious right cross.

"A linebacker coach?" Kim inquired with a raised eyebrow. "Granted, she's got the build and personality for it, but since when does library management have anything to do with football?"

"Since now!" Ron shouted, ducking under another punch and lunging at his opponent in a classic takedown move. Planting his shoulder deep into the man's gut, he drove the air from his lungs and sent both of them tumbling across the room. The sprawling mass of tangled limbs smashed through the table and came to rest amongst a blizzard of cards and multi-colored chips.

Extricating himself from the mess and shaking the fog from his head, Ron absent-mindedly grabbed a handful of cards from the shattered remnants of the table and instinctively looked at their contents.

"Hey, check it out!" he shouted. "This guy is holding a full house!"

Instantly, the three other men, including the one who was currently extricating himself from a mountain of literature, stopped and stared at the tow-headed teen and their fallen companion. For several seconds they looked on in silent contemplation, then shared a meaningful glance with each other.

"I'm out!"

"I fold!"

"I quit!"

With this revelation, a frustrated groan was heard to emanate from beneath Ron.

"Oh, sorry buddy." He apologized as he picked himself up off the floor. "Guess I shouldn't have mentioned that."

The battle now began again with Kim defending herself against her still ambulatory attacker. She blocked another punch and ducked away from a third as she slowly circled the room, waiting for an opportunity to counter-attack once more. When he pulled back for an open palm strike she saw her chance, diving under the blow, grabbing a rather hefty volume from a nearby table, and soundly applying the text to the man's solar plexus. It was then that she looked down at the book's cover.

"Huh." She mentally shrugged, turning and tossing the leather-bound tome to Ron. "Here Ron! This seems to help!"

"War and Peace? Only if we just read the first half of it!" Ron pondered, briefly glancing at the title. He spun around, using the combination of the book's weight and centrifugal force to deliver a devastating blow to the face of his second opponent. "You wouldn't happen to have Sun Tzu's _'The Art of War'_ over there, would you?"

"Dunno. Lem'me check the card catalogue." Kim quipped, delivering a side kick that sent her still staggering opponent crashing into the aforementioned bank of drawers.

"Sorry. Nope."

Battered and bloodied by the encounter so far, the four men now retreated to a corner to regroup. Spared the rigors of combat for a few moments, Kim and Ron both took the opportunity to catch their breath and strategize a bit themselves.

"So whadda ya think?" Ron breathlessly asked.

"Well we need to find a way of shutting this thing down." Kim observed between gulps of air. "This room looks like its pretty well soundproofed, so nobody's heard the ruckus so far. But we can't count on things staying that way for long. Eventually, somebody's gonna notice something's wrong, and then we'll _really_ be up a creek."

It was at this point in the conversation that Rufus emerged from Ron's pocket. Scampering up to his familiar perch on his master's shoulder, the tiny mole rat began chittering wildly and gesturing toward a point amongst the rafters of the room.

"Heeeeeey! Good idea, little buddy." Ron remarked to his beaming pet. "Get yourself in position, then. I'll signal when we're ready for you."

The mole rat smartly saluted and dashed off to fulfill his mysterious mission.

"We're all set on this end." Ron proudly informed. "How's it looking on your side of things?"

"Oh, I've got a few ideas." Kim maliciously grinned, glancing toward the massive shelves along the far wall. "Same plan as before. You take two and I take two."

"Gotcha, KP." Ron agreed with a grin. "Let's file this one under 'D' for 'Done'."

Moving to opposite sides of the room once more, their opponents came out of their makeshift huddle with what could only be described as "murderous intent" showing in their eyes. Slowly the two groups began to stalk their prey, forcing the teens ever backward and into the opposite corners of the room.

Backpedaling carefully across the remnants of the splintered table, Ron kept careful track of not only his own position, but the position of his opponents as well. Estimating the point at which the pair was in the exact center of the room, he abruptly stopped his retreat, startling the two mountainous men into halting their advance.

"Here. Before we go any further, you might wanna read this." He chirped, grabbing a book from the floor and tossing it to the surprised attackers. One of them caught the offered volume and turned it over to check the dust jacket.

"Sir Isaac Newton's Laws of Motion?" he asked in a confused tone. "Why would we need this?"

"Because I don't think you get the gravity of the sitch, dudes. NOW RUFUS!" he shouted.

Twelve feet above the fray, amid the shadows and dust of the ancient rafters, the valiant rodent bared his razor-sharp incisors and severed a rope with three quick bites. The cast iron chandelier that had been hanging silently above the battle up to that point shuddered violently, then plunged downward, quickly engulfing the two men in a tangled web of shattered framing and tension cables.

"Rather illuminating, wouldn't you say guys?" Ron smirked, sparing a glance upward to flash a big thumbs up at his loyal pet.

Meanwhile, for Kim, things were developing a little differently.

Being forced ever backward toward a bank of shelves in the corner, she silently counted her steps and plotted her distance from the wall. When she estimated the distance to be less than four feet, she turned and ran, leaping onto a small end table, then launching into a graceful back flip that sent her sailing over her opponents, landing in a gymnast's crouch about ten feet behind them.

Stunned by this sudden turn of events, the men quickly spun around to face her once more, but she was equally quick with her grapple. With all the speed and fluidity of a quick-draw gunfighter, she pulled the device from its holster and fired, the razor-sharp tines sailing between the two stunned men and plunging deep into the shelves behind them.

"Ha!" One of the men barked smugly. "You missed."

"Oh, did I?" Kim shot back, equally smug in her expression. She gave a solid yank on the cable, and an ominous groan drew the attention of the two men behind them.

Two seconds later, they both were completely buried beneath a mountain of leather, paper and oaken shelves, and silence reigned throughout the space once more.

"Now _there're_ two guys with a lot on their minds." Ron remarked, striding up beside Kim with Rufus perched jauntily upon his shoulder.

"It'll give them something to think about." Kim shot back, returning the grapple to its holster and grabbing her pack from the floor. "Now let's move. A mess like this won't go unnoticed for long."

Shouldering his own pack, Ron took one more look around at the devastation the battle had wrought. What only minutes before had been a stately and well-appointed room was now a swirling mess of torn paper, broken furniture and spilled beverages. From one of the few surviving tables he plucked a small bundle of cards and absent-mindedly checked their faces.

"Are you kidding me?" he moaned. "This guy was drawing to an inside _straight?_ That's just crazy is all that is!"

"C'mon, mister card shark." Kim prodded, grabbing her boyfriend by the collar and dragging him toward the door. "The casino is closed."

* * *

"So we're sure they're in there, then?"

"Positive, Kim." Wade replied. "I'm picking up bio-signatures of five individuals. Two of them match the profiles I have for King Wallace and his son."

"Leaving three guards to be dealt with." Kim pondered, taking a contemplative look at the ornately carved teak doors that led to the royal suite. "Okay then, we need a plan."

"Maybe we should use the direct approach?" Ron offered, running a thoughtful finger across a section of exquisite rosewood inlay.

"Sorry Ron, but this sitch is gonna require a little more tact than that." Kim lamented. "We can't just go busting in there without risking the welfare of the hostages."

"Tact? You want tact?" Ron lightly giggled. "You wanna tell them we're Jehovah's Witnesses or something? Or for that matter, why not just knock and ask to be let in?"

"You know, that's really not a bad idea." Kim suddenly smiled, drawing a horrified look from Ron.

"Uh, KP? You know how I sometimes… like… have ideas that nobody listens to?" he nervously stuttered. "Well that was kinda one of them."

"Actually, that was one of your _better_ ideas Ron." Kim insisted as she began glancing up and down the corridor. "It just needs the proper accessories is all."

"Okay, now I'm _really_ nervous." Ron whined as he followed two steps behind his girlfriend. Kim continued her relentless searching for several more seconds, until she finally turned a corner and spied an unattended dinner service cart setting to one side of the hall.

"Perfect!" she malevolently grinned.

A few minutes later, the pair was back outside the entrance to the royal suite with Ron dressed in a rough approximation of a servant's uniform.

"I don't know about this, KP." He whined, nervously tugging at the white tablecloth that was currently tied around his waist like an apron. "I really don't feel much like a butler in this."

"Relax." Kim reassured him. "You don't need to _totally_ look the part: Just enough to get through the door. Rufus will take it from there." She looked down at the small creature where he sat, daintily perched on the cart atop a silver serving platter.

"This is it, Rufus." She conferred with the mole rat, leaning down to his level. "You know what to do, right?"

"_Hurk, hoo-yeah!"_ he squeaked, flashing an enthusiastic thumbs up.

"All right then. Good luck." She said, and placed a sterling silver cover atop the tray before turning back to her profusely sweating boyfriend.

"Okay Ron. It's up to you to get Rufus inside." She reminded the blond. "I know you can do this. Just act natural and it'll all go smoothly."

"Easy for you to say." Ron wheezed. "You're not the one about to take on a trio of terrorists armed with an apron and a shrimp fork."

"Just stay calm and act natural." She reiterated. "And remember, I have faith in you."

Somehow, those five little words did more to boost Ron's confidence than all the locker room pep talks in the world ever could. The mere knowledge that Kim believed in him and his abilities was the ultimate morale builder: As long as _she_ trusted him to do the right thing, then he too could do anything.

"I won't let you down." He whispered, confidence suddenly flooding his expression.

"I know you won't." Kim whispered back, gently reaching up to caress his cheek. Then, with a final thumbs up, she pressed herself against the wall just beside the massive double doors.

Ron tugged at his collar for one final unrestricted breath, threw back his shoulders, and briskly pushed the cart over to the entrance. With an aura of confidence suggestive of someone who belonged exactly where they were, he crisply knocked on the door three times and waited patiently. It wasn't but a few moments before the metallic clicking of a latch could be heard, and the massive wooden monoliths parted a crack.

"Whada ya want?" a gravelly voice asked.

"Room service." Ron flatly stated. "I've got lunch here for the staff and our 'guests'." You could almost hear the sarcastic quotation marks around the term "guests" when he spoke.

"We didn't order anything." The raspy voice insisted.

"Compliments of the kitchen staff." Ron said. "The brass figured with as long as you guys were gonna be cooped up here you could use a good meal."

"Are you sure you've got the right room?"

"You know of any other royal suites around here?" Ron asked with a very convincing tone of annoyance. "Look, all I know is that I've got five orders of filet mignon with steamed asparagus here that aren't getting any warmer. Now if you don't want them that's fine. I'm sure the guys in the motor pool would love to have 'em. But when it comes time that you Finicky Franklins start getting hungry up here, don't expect us grunts down in the kitchen to simply drop everything and whip up a batch of sandwiches or whatever!"

"Alright! Alright!" the voice finally conceded. "Bring it on in. There's no need to make a flippin' federal case out of it."

"Well the clock's always ticking, and I _do_ have responsibilities besides this." Ron groused as the door opened all the way and he pushed the cart inside.

To call the royal suite spacious would be like calling Arnold Schwarzenegger "that actor with the nice build." The main parlor, if that term was even adequate, was larger than his whole house back in Middleton. Twelve-foot vaulted ceilings and inlaid hardwood floors gave an aura of un-compromised luxury while arched floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with light. Against the far wall was a fireplace so large he could stand up in it, complete with a hand-carved marble mantle piece perfectly framing its outline. To the right a series of doors led to what he could only assume were the royal bedchambers, while another door to the left opened into a bathroom larger than his bedroom back home.

"_Well put me in a frame and call me Picasso."_ Ron silently gawked. _"A guy could get used to living like this."_

"So what do you have for us?" the gravel-voice guard asked, now joined by one of his companions.

"Ah yes." Ron theatrically explained. "Today we have prepared for you a sumptuous meal of tender filet mignon with sides of potatoes au gratin and steamed asparagus in hollandaise, but first an hors d'oeuvre to whet the appetite. Presenting our chef's specialty: Mole Rat Surprise!"

With a flourish, Ron plucked the cover from the highly-polished tray to reveal the toothy grin of the pink hairless creature underneath.

"_Hnnnk, surprise!"_ Rufus squeaked as he filled his tiny lungs with air and popped the cap from the canister of knockout gas that had been concealed along with him.

For the stunned audience, the effect was nearly immediate. Caught completely off guard by the subterfuge, they only managed a few steps backward before gravity and the gas took over. With all the grace and poise of a sack of dirty laundry, they fell to the floor in a heap; a snoozing, drooling lump of Rhodighan's finest.

"Clear!" Ron called out as he released the breath he'd been holding. Kim was at his side an instant later.

"Good job you two." She congratulated her team. Then, she took note of the body count on the floor.

"Great. Where's the third one?" she whispered coarsely.

"Don't look at me." Ron pleaded. "These were the only two that I saw."

They had both began frantically scanning the room for the missing third guard when another voice called out from an adjacent room: A voice that both teens found comfortingly familiar.

"I say, what in heaven's name is going on out there?"

It came as no surprise when moments later, the face of the aging monarch appeared at the door.

"Your highness, King Wallace." Kim greeted the king in a customary if brisk manner.

"Ah! Miss Possible, if my eyes do not deceive me!" the sovereign enthusiastically greeted the teen heroine. "If I may say so, you are certainly a welcome sight for these old eyes."

"Glad to be here your majesty." Kim fibbed. "Do you know where the other guard is hiding?"

"Other guard?" the king pondered aloud. "What other guard?"

"The guard." Ron pointed out, by now having shed his makeshift apron and returned to Kim's side. "You know… A large, refrigerator-shaped gentleman who generally keeps you from doing the things you want to do."

"I'm afraid you are mistaken young man." The king explained, wholly unfazed by Ron's casual and direct manner of speaking. "There were only two gentlemen responsible for our confinement."

Ron and Kim both shared a meaningful glance.

"Maybe Wade's scan was off?" Ron shrugged.

Kim returned the shrug. It seemed as plausible an explanation as any just then, and at that moment they had far bigger issues to deal with than the accuracy of Wade's bio-scanning software.

"Okay then. That's one less thing to worry about." She sighed. "Your majesty, we're here as part of an advance team with Global Justice."

"Actually Kim, we _are_ the advance team." Ron corrected.

"Thank-_you."_ Kim snapped. "Anyway, we've been assigned to get you and your family out of the country."

At this, King Wallace laughed heartily.

"I thought the powers that be might try something of this sort." He said. "You should find us quite prepared and ready to leave forthwith."

"_Finally!" _Kim inwardly sighed._ "Something is going our way."_

"Good to know, your majesty." Ron pointed out. "I just hope you weren't planning on taking any reading material along for the trip."

"I beg your pardon?" the king asked, not fully understanding the young man's meaning.

"What Ron means is that we had a minor incident in your library on the way in." Kim clarified.

"Minor incident?" Ron snorted. "More like a battle royale if you ask me. I had to smash one of those dudes in the face with a thesaurus."

"A thesaurus?" Kim cautiously inquired.

"Yeah." Ron confirmed. "The guy was shocked, stunned, surprised, taken aback, caught unawares…"

"Yeah, yeah. We get it." Kim groaned, turning back toward the king. "You were saying, your majesty."

"Ah yes, right then." King Wallace agreed. "Wally! Grab your bag and come out here please?"

"Ah, I thought I heard the lunch cart." A familiar and high-pitched voice wafted in from an adjoining room. "I just hope they remembered this time that I like my steak medium…"

The young prince stopped abruptly when he entered the room. The sight that awaited him was not the one he had been expecting.

"Something tells me that lunch _isn't_ being served, is it?" He whined in his irritating, nasally droll.

"Now, now young Wallace. These fine young people are here to escort us to safety." The king explained to his son.

"Will lunch be served on the way?"

"Never mind that, Wally." The king sighed. "Just go grab your bag and your cousin and get ready to leave."

The king's last statement struck an immediate chord with both members of Team Possible.

"His _cousin?"_ both teens asked in unison.

"Quite right." Another voice replied, drawing the team's attention to yet another door within the spacious parlor.

Suddenly, both teens knew the source of the mysterious fifth person on Wade's scan.

There, standing in an open doorway and backlit by a nearby window was a young girl about the same age as Kim and Ron. Thin and svelte, her blond hair flowed down her back in golden waves, terminating at a point six inches below her shoulders. The dress she wore was elegant without being flashy, and indicated a personal style that was certainly fashion-forward, but not at the expense of practicality. She was about an inch shorter than Kim, but with a similar build that indicated at least some sort of a regular workout regimen. All in all, Kim had to admit that this young woman was the spitting image of what she herself would look like if she bleached her hair and inherited a small fortune.

"Oh, where are my manners." King Wallace broke in. "Team Possible, I give you my niece: Alexia DeNovelle: Duchess of Corsica."

"The pleasure is mine. And may I say that your efforts place us all squarely in your debt." The young duchess greeted the team, her soft accent a unique mixture of French and Northern Italian. Her turquoise blue eyes sparkled as she nodded appreciatively toward Kim.

Then, with a slight turn of her head, she nodded and smiled demurely at Ron, a slight giggle passing her lips in the process.

Almost instantly, Kim felt the temperature in the room shoot up 20 degrees.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Oooooh! Weren't expecting _that_ one, now were we? (Insert evil laugh here.)

Well it's been a long, hard road for the team, but they've finally reached their primary objective. Too bad it's about half again larger than what they were expecting. (You see: _This_ is why the phrase "military intelligence" is a contradiction of terms.)

But still, the mission from here on out is a pretty simple affair. Just get to the strip, grab the jet and get the hell out of Dodge. All in all, it's really no big. Right?

(And if you believe that, then I've got some beachfront property in Arkansas that's going real cheap right now.)

Oh, and if the opening scene seems somehow familiar to you, there's a good reason for that. Ron's struggle with Latin terminology is loosely based on a similar scene in the 2004 movie "The Punisher." In that film, Thomas Jane's character of Frank Castle has similar ruminations about being forced to learn that particular phrase.

And so it's time to fasten your seat belts and sharpen up your fingers, my fellow life travelers, because nothing's ever a simple as it looks, and we're looking at more twists and turns than a bag full of bungee cords. As always, read + review = reply, and I'll catch you all on the flip side!

Take care, one and all!

_Nutzkie…_


	5. The Great Escape

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Five ~**

_Well this was just ducky…_

If you were to take a snapshot of this particular moment in time, you could almost draw the conclusion that the very forces of the universe were conspiring against Kim Possible. And truthbe told, at the moment she would have been inclined to agree. After a day spent trekking across mountain and sea, infiltrating a high-security compound and facing off against a quartet of ornery henchmen, she had now been hit with the bombshell that there were _three,_ not two hostages requiring rescue. And to stick a cherry on top of it all, this surprise individual was a highly attractive member of the female persuasion who was even now openly making eyes at her boyfriend.

Well noble blood or not, there were some lines that you just didn't cross.

"Okay then. Now that the introductions are out of the way, we really need to be making tracks." Kim pointed out, making a point of stepping between the Duchess and Ron as she addressed the group. "Ron and I will take point. I want everyone no more than ten paces behind us at all times. We may need to move fast at some point, so try to keep up. If either one of us," she indicated herself and Ron, "give you an instruction, you do it."

"Now wait just one moment I say!" Wally broke in. "You are the only ones here who are of common blood. Why is it that _you_ get to make the decisions for everyone else?"

Given the circumstances, Kim was in no mood for the prince's royal attitude.

"Why? I'll tell you why." She barked. "It's because Ron and I are the ones with experience in this department… Because _we're_ the ones risking our necks to drag your sorry keester out of this meat grinder… And it's because I _say_ so! Got it?"

"Received and acknowledged." Wally whimpered like a scolded puppy.

Kim shot the young prince a final scowl as she keyed the Kimmunicator. "What's it look like out there, Wade?" she asked.

"All clear in the corridor." Wade assured her. "You're good to go."

"Alright then. Keep your eyes and ears open, and move quietly and quickly." She instructed the group. "Everyone on me."

Opening the oaken doors a crack and giving the hallway a final check to confirm that the coast was indeed clear, Kim motioned the group ahead, and a string of five people slipped silently into the carpeted corridor.

* * *

Progress was fast as the ad hoc group made their way down a hallway that seemed to stretch clear to the horizon. With Wade as navigator they moved as swiftly as they dared through the maze of corridors, all the while staying as silent as a group of proverbial church mice. At an unmarked intersection their path branched left, then right after several more yards, then left again to descend a flight of stairs, leading to yet another hall that seemed remarkably like the first.

"Are we sure Wade knows where he's taking us?" Ron whispered, expressing apprehension about his growing sense of disorientation.

"Wade _always_ knows where he's taking us." Kim reassured him. "Try to remember who we're dealing with."

"I'm aware of that." Ron defensively declared. "It's just that I'm so beyond lost right now, I've got vertigo." He raised his head to take fearful glance down an adjoining corridor.

"And I think we just passed the Donner Party." He added timidly.

"Then we'll point them toward the kitchen." Kim panned, hoping to both dismiss Ron's worries and relieve some of the tension that hung in the air like some oppressive and musty odor.

"Yeah. Donner, party of fifty!" Ron chuckled. The humor in the unexpected exchange was slight, but it had the desired effect, considerably lifting the collective mood of the group.

Perhaps buoyed by this welcome change in atmosphere, the group accelerated its pace and after three more turns found itself standing before another set of ornate double doors, even more massive that the one they had encountered previously.

"This is the entrance to the grand ballroom." Wade informed the team. "There should be another set of doors on the far side that lead outside."

"Indeed." King Wallace confirmed. "Immediately beyond this room there is an open patio and veranda. There's a short drop over the rail beyond that, but nothing substantial."

"Sounds good, then." Kim concurred, reaching up and testing the knob to confirm the door's unlocked status. "Let's move."

Pushing the massive slab of old-growth European Oak aside, Kim led the way as the group started across the expansive room. Their footsteps echoed across the finely polished marble floor as they made their way, their eyes never wavering from the twin doors that represented their path to the great outdoors… and freedom.

Moving swiftly and silently, they had closed to within twenty feet of their objective when the two monolithic panels shuddered violently, causing Kim to pull up short and Ron to nearly plow into her backside. It was only through a miracle of agility and sheer physics that the pair was able to remain standing.

Then, as five sets of eyes looked on in horror, the doors parted, flooding the room with sunlight… and two very large, very ornery-looking gentlemen in dark suits and ominous sunglasses.

"Great. The guys from _The Matrix_ are here." Ron moaned, dread dripping off of every syllable.

"Heh-heh. Check it out, Karl. Somebody sent in the cavalry." One of the men joked.

"Yeah." His companion agreed. "But it looks to me like the Special Forces have lowered their standards somewhat."

Kim assumed a fighting stance and motioned for the team's three charges to retreat to a safe distance.

"Don't be so quick to judge." She snarked. "We've got a pretty impressive record against goon squads like you."

Chancing a quick look over her shoulder, she took note that Ron had positioned himself about two paces behind and to her right. It was the perfect back-up position for their particular fighting style, and one that they had both exhaustively rehearsed. By this point Kim figured that Ron could probably find that spot in his sleep.

Their opponents, on the other hand, seemed wholly unimpressed by either their coordination or track record.

"What? You mean like those four chumps they found in the library a few minutes ago." Karl openly laughed. "Those punks couldn't take candy from a baby without coming out on the short end of things."

"Yeah." The first man heartily concurred. "I think you'll find us to be something more of a challenge."

"What? You gonna talk us into submission?" Kim mocked, immediately drawing the ire of these two black-clad men.

"Actions speak louder than words." The first man snarled. "You take the skinny kid, Karl. I've got the lippy one here. Time to ride the pain train!"

With that abbreviated battle cry, both men charged, immediately forcing both members of Team Possible onto the defensive. Splitting up into different directions, they fell back under a relentless barrage of kicks, punches, jabs and grabs. Much to their shock, the claims made by these men just moments before were proving to be far more than mere idle boasts. They were both skilled and aggressive, with impeccable defenses that left little room for counterattack. Any offensive strikes were either blocked or deflected, and quickly followed by a ferocious counterattack. Ron was driven halfway to a far corner of the room before a devastating kidney punch landed hard on his left side. He winced in pain and stumbled backward half a step, only to have a follow-up knife strike land squarely across his right shoulder. The combined force of both strikes sent him sprawling to the glass-like floor in a heap.

For Kim, things weren't going much better. Her opponent had already landed a handful of good shots without any meaningful damage to show for it. The way he moved left her at a loss for words, displaying a grace and agility that went far beyond anything suggested by his husky frame. It was clear that these particular gentlemen were far more than the mindless "walking walruses" that she and Ron typically fought. These men had obviously been extensively trained, most likely by a master, and through it all there was a faint thread of familiarity: Something that she couldn't quite identify, but was nonetheless certain that she had seen or experienced somewhere before.

All such ruminations were cut short however, as the faintest of openings suddenly appeared within her opponents defenses. With lightning speed Kim reacted, lashing out with a right cross that threatened to send the man's jawbone into low earth orbit.

It was with great dismay on her part that her opponent sidestepped the blow at the last possible instant, allowing the strike to sail harmlessly past, the faint whiskers on his chin brushing ever-so-lightly against the material of Kim's mission glove.

Then, with a speed of reflex that would have made any martial arts master proud, he grabbed her extended arm and twisted his sizeable weight around, sending the young redhead sailing across the room in a violent, tumbling arc. Seconds later she crashed into Ron, who was just getting up himself, and both teens skidded across the floor like a pair of rag dolls, coming to rest beneath one of several heavy tables that lined the perimeter of the room.

For Kim, the first thing she noticed as the vertigo and disorientation of having just been used as a human shot-put subsided, was that the floor beneath her was a lot softer than she would expect. The fact that this same floor was groaning and moving only added to her confusion.

"Not that I'm complaining about this or anything," a weak yet familiar voice moaned, "but could ya maybe move your elbow just a smidge, KP? I think you're pinching off some really important things in my neck."

"Oh God, Ron! I'm sorry!" Kim gasped, quickly rolling off the grimacing form of her boyfriend. "Are you okay?"

"Never better." He lied; and in a way that Kim found most unconvincing. Given the current circumstances however, she decided to let it slide.

"Good to hear." She hedged, rising up to her knees and rubbing the quickly forming bruise on her shoulder. "Thanks for breaking my fall, by the way."

"Don't mention it. I just hope that's the only thing I broke." He chortled, similarly rubbing his throbbing collarbone.

"You know, I can't quite pin it down, but there's something _very_ familiar about these guys' style." She remarked absently as she watched their opponents jovially congratulating each other and resetting themselves for the next round.

"And I _know_ I've felt that knife strike before." Ron agreed. "So what do you think's up with these guys?"

"Only one way to find out." Kim sighed as she crawled out from under the table and stood to face their opponents once again.

"That's what I was afraid of." Ron moaned, expressing all the exuberance of a condemned man being led to his execution.

The second round went similarly to the first. Both teens engaged their respective opponents and were quickly forced into defensive positions, backpedaling and dodging against a relentless torrent of feints and well-executed attacks. Once again the overwhelming assaults forced them in different directions, preventing any sort of cooperative strategy from being considered. Both teens inwardly grimaced, sharing a common thought between them:

They were getting their clocks cleaned, and they knew it.

Trying desperately to turn the tables on what was quickly becoming a losing effort, Kim dodged yet another jab and executed a back flip onto another of the nearby tables. She didn't know why she was surprised when her opponent mirrored her move with a running forward flip of his own and lashed out with an open-palm strike to her chin. With lightning-quick reflexes she managed to avoid most of the devastating blow, leaning away from the strike that just managed to graze her cheek and throw her off balance.

Rolling with the punch, she fellhead-over heels from the table, barely managing to save herself from a nasty landing by shifting her weight and executing a perfect somersault/half-twist combo. With the skill of an Olympic gymnast she stuck the landing, coming to rest in a combat crouch, ready for whatever her opponent might throw at her next.

Raising her fists in anticipation of a coming attack, she looked up to the table and locked eyes with her opponent, staring deeply into the soul of the person who so far had managed to wipe the walls with her: A very rare boast to be sure. Sneering with a contemptuous grin born of supreme confidence, he dropped into a wide stance and gracefully spread his arms, appearing so much like a cougar ready to pounce. It was an elegant and distinctive form, and in the split second that his smiling, malicious eyes bore straight into her own, Kim experienced a momentary flash. For the briefest of instants, the hulking, dark-suited man was gone… replaced by a vision of raven black hair and sparkling green plasma.

"Shego!" Kim hissed under her breath, suddenly comprehending why this man's fighting style had seemed so familiar to her.

"Ah! I take it you know our instructor then?" her opponent sneered, his confidence only seeming to grow with her epiphany.

"We've met." She growled tersely. At the moment she was growing seriously tired of this guy's attitude, making her suspect that fighting techniques weren't the only thing he had learned from the glowing green villainess.

"What's going on over there, KP?" Ron shouted as he barely managed to leap over a leg sweep and keep his footing in the process.

"These guys trained with Shego, Ron!" she replied, falling back once again as her opponent leapt from his perch and resumed his attack. "That's why they seemed so familiar!"

"Oh man! Why didn't I see that?" Ron lamented, ducking under a roundhouse and backpedaling once again.

"Don't worry about that now!" Kim instructed, ducking past a judo chop and sidestepping to her right. "Focus on what's in front of you! These guys have Shego's skills!"

"No kidding!" Ron yelped as he narrowly avoided another knife strike to the chest. "Any ideas on how we're gonna deal with that?"

"I've got a few!"

"Well I'm open to suggestions!"

"Think about it, Ron." Kim shouted, back-flipping away from a plunging overhand strike from above. "They have Shego's technique, so they must have her _weaknesses_ too!"

"Shego has weaknesses?" Ron gaped as he readied himself for yet another attack. "You certainly could've fooled me!"

"Everybody has weaknesses, Ron." Kim assured him, taking advantage of a brief pause in her own opponent's offensive. "Just imagine you're fighting her instead of that guy and you'll start to see your openings."

"I've tried that," Ron panted, "but all the openings had this guy's fist in them."

"Just give it a try." She reiterated. "You might be surprised."

"Surprised or beaten to a bloody pulp. Take your pick." He panned, returning his attention back to his own opponent. "Okay then, Tiny. You heard what the lady said. Let's get this over with."

Once again, the mountain of a man before him attacked, and once again he was forced into retreat. As he stepped backward again and again, he did what he could to take Kim's words to heart. He imagined this incredibly large gentleman in a green and black jumpsuit, accented with long hair and ample cleavage. It was a disturbing image to be certain, but much to his surprise, it seemed to help. As this man moved through a series of defensive moves, he could see patterns developing within his technique. Groups of motions that only moments before had seemed like random gyrations coalesced into complex sequences, each with its own style and intent. Suddenly there was pattern and purpose where mere moments before there had been only chaos and disorder, and with this sudden appearance of organization came something else: Predictability.

Continuing to observe his opponent through the lens of his imagination, repeating patterns of attack soon became discernable, and when the man reared back for yet another knife strike, Ron saw the opening that he had been desperately praying for.

Dropping down below the level of the blow he knew was coming, Ron lunged forward with all his weight and drove a solitary fist deep into his opponent's gut.

The result was somewhat less than what he had hoped for.

Looking down upon the tow-headed boy before him, the professional henchman beamed a predatory smile that sent chills down Ron's spine and into his soul. The hardest and most well placed punch that he could hope to land, and it hadn't even fazed this walking, talking bulldozer of a man.

_Well perhaps then it was time to up the ante._

Closing his eyes and clearing his mind, Ron now reached deep within himself, searching for some ancient and unfathomable knowledge the location and nature of which even he was unaware of. He did not know just when or where he had obtained such knowledge nor why it had chosen him as its host. All he knew was that it was somehow connected to the monkey powers that coursed through his veins, and that in times of extreme need, it would invariably provide him with the tools he needed to carry the day and protect those he cared about from danger.

Drawing a calming breath and conjuring some formless, faceless image of what he was about to do, he clenched his eyes closed as tight as he could and whispered a single word.

"_Kaiten."_

What happened next occurred so quickly that it was beyond the scope of human vision. But if one could have slowed down the process to a mere fraction of its actual speed, a distinct set of events would be seen to unfold. For the briefest of instants, Ron's entire body took on a faint aura of azure blue. In this infinitesimal moment, this luminescent halo enshrouded his entire person. Then, with the speed and strength of a lightning bolt, it collapsed upon itself, suddenly condensing into his core and flowing along his outstretched arm in a super concentrated burst of pure energy.

Like a runaway train it leapt from his fist and slammed into his opponent's torso with the force of a battering ram. The hapless thug never had the pleasure of knowing what had struck him, as he was roughly tossed across the room like a child's plaything and sent smashing through one of the oaken tables near the massive entryway doors.

"Catch the wave, dude." He triumphantly grinned. "Catch the wave."

Several yards away, the sudden turn of events did not go unnoticed.

"Whoa, Karl! Are you okay?" Kim's opponent gasped. Stunned by the sight of his comrade in arms sprawled out on the cold hard floor, his concern for his partner momentarily overrode his desire to focus on the fight…

And that was all the opening Kim needed.

Quickly, she glanced to Ron, unspoken instruction and understanding passing between them in the span of an instant. Then, as Ron dashed to close the distance, she launched the counterattack that she had been so looking forward to.

Taking advantage of her opponent's momentary distraction, she attacked with a series of vicious jabs. While not landing any appreciable blows to speak of, it had the effect of placing him back on his heels. A quick thrust kick to his knee put him even further off balance, then a final spin kick struck home in the center of his chest, finishing the job for good.

Now under normal circumstances, this would not have been a game-ending blow. As any martial artist worth his or her salt can tell you, repositioning one's body weight to either avoid or at least limit a fall is a skill so basic that most first year students can do it. It's game-changing event, perhaps… but not game-ending.

But when your partner has just stealthily placed himself on all fours directly behind your opponent, the circumstances become very different indeed.

Forced backward against this human stumbling block, the hapless goon's fate was sealed. Gravity and inertia were quick to take control, and the suited gorilla of a man crashed to the floor, his head striking the marble with a sickening crack before silence reigned through the cavernous space once more.

"Have a nice trip, bozo." Kim quipped as she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

"Not bad." Ron observed, standing up and heaving a deep breath. "Think if we just leave him there people will think it's the latest thing in throw rugs?"

"Doubtful." Kim commented, drawing a deep breath herself. "Man oh man. Shego… training the help. Who would've thought?"

"Hey. At least she's putting that teaching credential of hers to good use."

"Personally, I'd prefer it if she'd stick to high school social studies." Kim lamented. "Now let's make like the wind and blow on outta here. At least before Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber here come 'round."

"Right!" Ron agreed. "Let's make like a possum and hit the road!"

"Eewww." Kim winced reflexively.

Moments later, the group was reassembled before the large entryway doors. With a quick check to ensure everyone was accounted for, Kim grabbed the oversized bronze knob and pulled.

The result was not the one she had been hoping for.

"Stupid… lousy… frickin'… frazzin'…" she muttered as the knob stubbornly refused to budge. "What in the name of holy heck is wrong with this thing?"

"I believe you will find that to be a self-locking latch." King Wallace informed from the rear of the group, drawing a baneful look from the redhead.

"In my position, one has to be conscious of security." He added with an apologetic shrug.

"Okay then. So if these guys came in this way," Ron pondered, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the two fallen henchmen, "then that means _they_ must have the key on 'em."

"Good thinking, Ron." Kim agreed. "You search this one and I'll check that one over there."

Splitting up toward their intended objectives, the pair hadn't gotten more than two feet when the room began to shake with an ominous rumbling.

"Oh, what fresh Hell is this?" Kim moaned through gritted teeth as she assumed a defensive stance once again.

"I'm guessing the bad kind." Ron offered, mimicking his girlfriend's position.

"Is there any other kind?" Kim asked, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Probably not. But ya never know." Ron shrugged. "I mean if they can make a chicken taste like an orange, than anything's poss…"

His sentence was abruptly cut-off as the doors they had entered through only moments before now exploded in a shower of splinters and smoke. Dust and debris quickly filled the room in a billowing cloud that slowly dissipated to reveal the towering, familiar silhouette of a destructo-bot, its glowing red eyes penetrating the haze as it scanned for the targets it knew to be there.

Caught off guard by this sudden turn of events, Kim and Ron both backed slowly toward the still locked exit behind them as their charges quickly scattered to either side of the room. The hulking machine continued to advance slowly upon the two heroes as they both searched desperately for a way out of the sitch.

Surprisingly, Ron was the first to act, withdrawing the Glock from its place on his hip and firing two quick shots, both of which bounced harmlessly off the machine's armored chest plate.

"Well, that was my idea." He said, crestfallenly turning to Kim. "What've you got?"

"You mean besides getting this door open somehow?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, I was thinking something like DUCK!"

Lunging to one side, she tackled her boyfriend to the floor just as a blast from the droid's plasma cannon screamed overhead, erupting in a shower of debris that proceeded to rain down over them. Coughing and choking through the thick pall of dust, they quickly scrambled to their feet and took stock of themselves.

"You okay?" Kim excitedly asked.

"Yeah, I'm good. All parts still attached." Ron confirmed, giving himself a quick once over. "And what's more, I think I just found the solution to our problem."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Ron was quick to point, indicating the wall behind her, and when she chanced a glance over her shoulder she was equally quick to notice the gaping, smoldering hole in the wall where the doors had once stood.

"Yeah, that'll work." She noted with a smile. "Okay everyone! Break time's over! On your feet and MOVE!"

And with that, five figures dashed through the swirling clouds of choking dust and out into the light of day.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

First off, I realize that the title for this chapter is a rip-off of the classic 1963 film. Honestly, I just couldn't think of anything better. (Mad props and all due respect to James Garner, Steve McQueen and Richard Attenborough for their roles in that flick. Now if I could just get the #$% theme song out of my head!)

Also, my apologies for this installment being so short. I had planned for things to be longer, carrying us all a little deeper into the storyline with this chapter. However, as things began to develop, it became increasingly clear to me that this was the most ideal place for a cut scene. Although I ordinarily like my chapters to be at least a few pages longer than this, there are times when the wisest course of action is to let the story decide its own pace, and I believe that this is one of those times. Hopefully the next chapter will come quickly and our wait will be brief.

_Kaiten:_ Ron's mysterious utterance during his brief display of mystic power is not without meaning. The term "kaiten" is a Japanese word that translates to "heaven shaker" in English. In terms of usage within the language, it is most notable as the name given to a special class of midget submarines, built by the Japanese late in World War Two.

Being essentially a piloted torpedo, the Kaiten was perhaps the ultimate manifestation of the kamikaze spirit. The machine itself was little more than a welded steel tube with an engine in the tail and a cramped control compartment in the midsection for the operator. The nose of this suicide machine was reserved for a 3,000-pound high-explosive warhead.

Carried into battle lashed to the deck of a larger fleet submarine, (or "I-Boat" as the Japanese Imperial Navy called them), the Kaiten would be brought to within range of its target and released. Then, free from the mother sub, the Kaiten pilot would navigate his craft with a compass and rudimentary periscope, steering into the side of an enemy ship and blowing up both the target and himself in the process.

Although nearly 400 Kaitens were built and more than 100 deployed, to date there are only two confirmed sinkings of allied ships by Kaitens. The dominance of the combined Allied surface fleet by that point in the war and advances in anti-submarine warfare techniques meant that most of the fleet subs were sunk long before they could deploy their suicidal payloads.

And so, with their charges secured and their plan in motion, the game is afoot for our intrepid teen heroes. But with an unexpected guest in tow and the twin forces of Wally's whining and the duchess's leering, how long will Kim be able to hold her rag-tag team together? It's a mad dash for freedom and sanity alike as our story shifts into high gear… All starting with our next installment. Stay sharp and stay tuned!

Peace out, one and all!

_Nutzkie…_


	6. Fight or Flight

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Six ~**

Fleeing the smoldering destruction behind them, the quintet dashed across the open space of the veranda and vaulted over the low wall that marked its far boundary. To a person, they barely paused as they hit the ground, bounced back to their feet, and resumed their all out sprint once more.

Across an open lawn and into a nearby rose garden they fled. It was only once they found cover behind a set of neatly trimmed hedges that Kim dared to stop and allow everyone to catch their breath.

"Okay. That oughta buy us a few minutes." She heaved, glancing over their limited cover to make certain there was no eminent pursuit. "But we're gonna need a ride pretty quick, your majesty. And you know the lay of this land better than we do."

"Well since you mention it, there are two options to be considered, actually." King Wallace thoughtfully pondered. "There is the royal garage where my own stable of luxury cars are kept. And then there is the motor pool, where we store the more utilitarian vehicles."

"Well I for one vote for the Bentley." Wally offered. "After all, if we are going to be forced to flee in such an undignified manner, then we should at least do it in style."

"Actually, I've got better criteria." Kim responded, seemingly ignoring the prince's suggestion. "Which one is closer?"

"That would be the motor pool." Wallace informed the redheaded heroine.

"Then that's where we're going." Kim decided, getting up and preparing to run once more. "Same rules as before folks. Move out!"

By now the palace grounds were starting to come alive as word of the escape spread like wildfire across the compound. Here and there along the escape path, frantic cries and excited shouts could be heard as alerts and orders were passed amongst the occupiers. Ducking in and out of alleyways and ornamental shrubbery, the group played a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek with the unseen voices, being ever so careful not to reveal their position, but at the same time not daring to slow down one inch.

By the time they reached the open courtyard of the motor pool, the growing din of shouts had been joined by the distant clanking of destructo-bots, letting everyone in the group know exactly how serious the situation was. But while chaos reigned around them, the immediate vicinity seemed to be, at the moment, deserted. Overall, it was an open and roughly rectangular area, surrounded on three sides by multiple garage bays with roll-up doors and a cinder block wall to the fourth side with a large gate at its center.

A quick visual check of the area revealed several nearby supply trucks in various stages of the loading/unloading process, and what appeared to be some sort of water or fuel tanker, its nose up on jack stands and its front axle removed, sitting patiently in the shade of one of the open maintenance bays. Additionally, tucked away in one corner of the courtyard was a small, olive drab jeep. Easily dwarfed by the larger vehicles that surrounded it, the small but rugged machine appeared to have come directly from the set of a World War Two film; a "U-handle" entrenching shovel clipped firmly to the driver's side and a menacing-looking machine gun mounted on a hardstand in the back.

"There's our ticket out of here!" Kim emphatically stated, pointing to the petite vehicle. "Everybody c'mon!"

Even as the group hastily piled into the boxy and antiquated four-by-four, Kim continued to remain in charge of the sitch.

"I'll take the wheel!" she said, vaulting into the driver's seat. "Ron! You get on that oversized tail pipe and give some cover while I get this thing started!"

"On it!" Ron promptly replied, clambering into the back and closely inspecting the firepower at his disposal. Although he wouldn't admit it to the others right then, his previous training had provided him with precious little to go on. A grand total of about ten minutes had been dedicated to such weapons, and it was this lack of experience that was now providing the bulk of his difficulty.

"_Okay, okay… Just settle down and think it over, Ronman."_ He thought to himself. _" I mean, heck! How hard can it be?"_

Meanwhile, Kim was having problems of her own.

"Wade! I need instructions on how to hot wire a car and I need them last week!"

"You want me to be an accomplice to auto theft?" a shocked Wade asked in astonishment. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious!" Kim confirmed. "Or at least we all might be if you don't give me a hand here!"

"Alright! Alright! I guess it's obvious you've got a good reason." Wade reluctantly acquiesced. "Start by finding the bundle of four wires leading from the ignition switch."

"Got 'em!"

"Okay, now take the two closest to the front and strip the insulation."

"My front or the front of the car?"

"Sorry. Your front."

"Gotcha… Just give me a sec to strip these things. How's it going back there, Ron?"

"Dear Consumer. Congratulations on your purchase… of a Browning… M-2… fifty-caliber machine gun. We are con… confident… that with proper care it will…"

"Never mind the manual, Ron! Just hurry up and start shooting stuff!"

"Well it's a lot harder than they make it look in the war movies!" he shouted, still fumbling with the various switches and appendages that sprouted from the shiny black housing.

"Safety." He muttered to himself. "There's got to be a _safety_ somewhere on this thing."

It was at that moment that Rufus decided to emerge from his pocket hiding place. Scurrying up Ron's side and down his arm, the mole rat quickly sized up the situation and dashed over to a red slider switch located between the twin pistol grips at the weapon's back end.

"Way to be, little buddy!" Ron congratulated his pet as the switch slid to the right and clicked into place. "So I guess from here on out it's just like Space Invaders, huh?"

Almost as if on cue, a destructo-bot chose that exact moment to come crashing through the wall at the far corner of the courtyard, its glowing red sights set squarely upon the cowering group.

With a swiftness born of a potent cocktail of fear and sheer reflex, Ron wasted no time in whipping his gun around and squeezing the triggers.

**_BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!_**

Three successive shots echoed across the courtyard as Ron let loose with a burst. Traveling at supersonic speed, the armor piercing/incendiary slugs easily did what his Glock could not, penetrating the armored steel carapace of the droid's torso and exiting out the back in a shower of sparks and fragmented metal. Having been hit with the equivalent of a brick traveling at Mach two, the droid quickly staggered and only managed two more steps before it collapsed to the ground… an unmoving hulk.

"Hah!" Ron shouted, looking at Rufus. "It _is_ just like Space Invaders!"

"Well don't look now, Captain Dead-Eye," Kim shouted in response, "but here comes the next level!"

Suddenly, several of the nearby overhead doors were blown into the courtyard as a half-dozen more destructo-bots advanced into the open, forming up into a skirmish line as they moved.

"Just like the old days, huh little man?" Ron wistfully glanced toward his pet as he placed the "ring-and-bead" crosshairs directly over the first droid in the line. "Back when it was just you, me, a Saturday night, a bottle of Orange Crush and Mister Atari."

"Okay! They're stripped!" Kim yelled over the staccato roar of the gun as Ron began unloading into their robotic adversaries. "Now what?"

"Touch the two exposed leads together."

Kim did as Wade instructed, but was dismayed when her efforts produced a small spark and little else.

"It's not working!" she screamed.

"Keep trying. It'll work." Wade reassured her.

Again and again, she tapped the two strands of bare metal together, each time creating a spark. Sometimes the engine would give a tantalizing lurch or cough; other times it would do nothing, mocking her with its silence.

A sizeable pile of brass shell casings had accumulated at his feet by the time the last of the six droids hit the ground. Wisps of smoke wafted from the muzzle and several other points along the gun's length as he ceased his firing, the pungent odor of cordite lying strong and heavy within his nostrils.

"You know, I've got a confession to make." Ron whispered to Rufus. "Win or lose, I _really_ love doing this."

Then, yet another group of destructo-bots appeared from behind one of the supply trucks.

"More party crashers, huh?" he observed as he brought his gun to bear upon the enemy once more. "Okay then. Let's dance!"

Once again, he hungrily squeezed the triggers, and to his great dismay, was rewarded with nothing but a hollow click.

"Aw man!" he whined. "We're out of quarters!"

A quick check of the weapon's left side revealed the problem. Or more specifically, it revealed the empty slot where the ammunition belt would normally protrude.

"Out of ammo." He cursed under his breath as he popped the latch on the receiver lid. "Rufus! Belt me! _Yee-ouch!"_

He reached up to gingerly rub his ear where the tiny creature had just thwacked him.

"Oh yeah. That's very funny." He scowled at the small pink form, who by now was rolling across his shoulder in fits of uncontrollable laughter. "Note… serious… face!"

"_Hurk… okay. Sorry."_ Rufus conceded, and quickly jumped down from his perch to return moments later with a fresh belt of ammunition from a nearby utility box.

Fortunately, reloading procedure was the one thing that he _did_ remember from his training. Stretching the chain between his hands, Ron laced the cartridges into the receiver plate, taking care to seat them properly over the feeder sprockets that would ensure proper operation of the weapon. Then, once he was satisfied with his work, he closed the cover, driving it home with a pound of his fist. Two quick pumps of the action lever and he was ready for business once again.

Taking dead aim, he opened fire on the lead droid, punching one lucky round through the center of the optical sensor in its head. The glowing red "eyes" of the mechanical being suddenly flickered out, and its metallic head was quickly surrounded by a halo of electrical arcs. Two seconds later, the head exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel, and the machine toppled over.

Never one to take a chance if he could help it, Ron refused to leave well enough alone. Even as the droid was on its way down, he pumped a finishing burst of several rounds into the dying machine, and ballistics being what they are, most of these rounds found their way through their target and into the truck beyond.

Suddenly the entire far corner of the courtyard was consumed in a fireball as the truck and its cargo exploded, demolishing two nearby buildings and the remaining droids in the process.

"If I had to call it, I'd say that's a skill shot bonus we just hit." Ron offered, staring blankly at the smoldering aftermath.

"_Hink, uh-huh."_ Rufus readily agreed.

By the twelfth attempt Kim was beginning to give up hope, the antique engine having haughtily refused every one of her valiant attempts at coaxing it into the land of the living. But then, just when all seemed lost, a set of slender fingers reached in and roughly took the metallic strands from her grasp.

"Here, let me show you." The unexpected voice of Alexia explained. "It's not so much a striking motion as a dragging one. You have to rub the leads together like your building a campfire."

Kim could only watch in stunned silence as the young duchess did as she described, brushing the exposed wires together in a back-and-forth motion. And much to her amazement, after only three attempts, the stubborn V-4 caught and turned over, producing what she could only describe as the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Where in the name of holy heck did you learn how to do that?" a stunned Kim asked, beyond shocked that someone of Alexia's obvious social position would have a working knowledge of such things.

"Last year I helped organize a foundation to prevent juvenile crime." Alexia plainly explained. "I guess I picked up a few things during the research process."

"Riiiiiiiiiight." Kim panned. It was an incredible story, and not one that she was certain she entirely believed at the moment. But beyond issues of credibility there was the simple fact that she had just been shown up on her own mission…

And that did not sit well with her at all.

But there were bigger issues to be deal with at the moment, and such relatively petty grievances needed to be shoved aside. She resolved to let the matter drop for the time being, but deep down she knew: Before this mission was over, the duchess and herself would be sitting down for a long, heart to heart talk.

"Alright! Good to go!" she shouted, shooting up in the driver's seat as though the upholstery had popped a spring. "Everyone get in, sit down, shut up and hang on!"

With the skill and speed of a NASCAR champion, she dropped the jeep into first gear, popped the clutch and floored the accelerator, tearing for the open gate and leaving a 70-foot trail of burnt rubber on the pavement behind her.

* * *

The road down from the mountain was as mountain roads tended to be: Steep and crooked with more hairpins than geriatric beautician's convention. But such circumstances did not prevent Kim from driving as though it were the Autobahn. With a speed and dexterity behind the wheel normally reserved for Grand Prix drivers at Le Mans she rocketed down the mountain, sailing over rises in the road and taking corners on two wheels, much to the chagrin of her white-knuckled passengers. At more than twice the posed limit she took a hard right turn onto a side road, causing everyone to cringe as they hung on for dear life.

"Ho boy." Roan moaned as he clung to his gun as if it was some sort of steel life preserver. "Really starting to regret grande sizing that burrito last night."

"Everything okay back there?" Kim called out over the roar of the engine.

"I'm good." Ron fibbed, swallowing back against the encroaching bile within his throat. "I just didn't realize I was dating Danica Patrick is all."

"Like I've said; I'm just full of surprises." Kim cooed, yanking the wheel into another particularly violent turn.

"And let's hope you're dating Wyatt Earp!" Alexia suddenly shouted into Kim's ear, leaning in from the back seat and frantically pointing forward. "Incoming at eleven o'clock!"

There, about 300 yards ahead, a destructo-bot was stepping into the road from the left shoulder, its blasters already charged and leveled.

"Hang on!" Kim commanded as she jerked the wheel hard right. The overloaded vehicle lurched and leaned heavily onto the gravel shoulder with the sudden shift of momentum, the rear tire spinning as it momentarily lost traction. A second later the blinding flash of a plasma burst assaulted their eyes as the intense beam sailed past, missing by only a scant few feet.

Retribution for the group came swiftly as Ron responded with a volley of his own. Kim instinctively ducked as the muzzle roared directly above her head, pumping out a stream of lead that tore through the droid's limbs and torso as though they were made of paper mache. The mechanical menace was knocked backward by the impact, spinning through a 180-degree pirouette before falling face down into the roadside ditch.

"Yeeee-eah! That's the way we roll in _my_ neighborhood, sukah!" he triumphantly shouted.

"Nice shot, Rambo!" the duchess eagerly observed.

"Hey! When ma duce starts talkin', even E. F. Hutton listens." Ron replied, patting the gun with a self-satisfied smile.

The dual sounds of wind and engine masked the dangerous growl that emanated from Kim's throat at that moment. As they sped past the fallen robot's remains, she swore an oath that she and the upstart royal _really_ needed to have a private chat.

The jeep lurched again through one final turn as the welcome sight of the airfield came into view. The few guards on duty at the entrance ducked for cover as the speeding vehicle careened toward them and smashed through the gate with no intention of stopping for anyone or anything. Tires squealed in protest as Kim turned onto the tarmac and sped down the flight line, leaving a trail of smashed steel and shocked and shouting sentries in her wake. Meanwhile, a nearby jeep burst into flames as Ron laced a volley into its engine block.

"That takes care of the pursuit!" he yelled.

"Nice work!" Kim responded. "Now get ready to bail out! That goes for everybody!"

Gears ground and rubber screamed as Kim stepped hard onto the brakes and brought the jeep skidding to a halt in front of a large hangar that sat at the end of the tarmac. From the brightly sunlit world outside, the shadowy interior of the cavernous building was barely discernable. But if one looked closely enough through the wide-open doors, the sleek outline of a large executive jet was clearly visible.

"Okay, you all know what to do!" she commanded as she leapt from the jeep. "No boarding passes or seat assignments on this flight! Just find a seat and strap in!"

"Excuse me, but I'm feeling a tad ill, what with all this excitement and everything." Prince Wally moaned.

"There's a bag next to your seat, and it's not for the Easter egg hunt." Alexia pointed out, roughly shoving her cousin toward the open gangway. "Now get moving!"

Ron, meanwhile, was barely hearing the commotion going on within the group. His attention was rather focused on things _outside_ the hangar. For there, in the shadows cast along the building's east side, sat a pair of Alpha Jets, giving every appearance of being armed and at the ready.

Quickly, he checked his ammo situation, and noted that he had at most a hundred rounds left at his disposal. He sighed and clicked his tongue in contemplation.

"Waste not, want not." He shrugged, and drew a bead on the nearest aircraft.

Four heads snapped around in unison as Ron poured what was left of his ammunition into the cockpits and engines of the two planes. By the time the gun clicked in resignation, both had been reduced to smashed and burning hulks.

"I don't like tailgaters, alright?" He said defensively as the group shot him a series of dumbfounded looks.

"Works for me." Kim shrugged. "Now get over here and let's get this bird off the ground!"

With speed and grace not normally shown, Ron dismounted from his position in the rear of the jeep and jogged over to the plane's open hatch. Seconds later that same hatch was sealed and secured, and with their charges safely buckled up in the cabin, the two teen heroes found themselves in a similar position in the cockpit.

"Coolio! A Gulfstream G-550! Daddy like." Ron enthused, checking the displays in front of him and powering up key systems. "Okay, let's get this baby started."

"Roger that. Spooling up number one." Kim replied, reaching up to the ignition switches on the ceiling above her head. Outside, the hangar came alive with the increasing whine of an accelerating compressor, only to be replaced moments later with the roar of a turbine's exhaust. A few more seconds and a second engine joined the first.

"Contact one and two. Confirmed." Kim announced from her position on the right side of the cockpit.

"Roger, contact two. All systems reporting nominal." Ron responded in the characteristic monotone of an experienced pilot. "Prepare for roll-out and taxi to runway one-alfa."

The multi-million dollar airframe gave a slight shudder as Ron released the parking brake and began the rollout. Turning left after exiting the hangar, he proceeded down the tarmac toward the runway's far end at a pace that was somewhat faster than normal.

"Hand me the mike, will you KP?" he asked, gesturing to the cabin intercom on the wall behind her seat. She quickly retrieved the indicated item and passed it along.

"Greetings and welcome aboard Eagle Air flight double-oh-zero, flying non-stop from Rhodighan to Leon." He recited. "For your own safety we ask that you keep your seat in an upright position, your table trays securely fastened, and your rabbit's feet, four-leaf clovers, and other assorted good luck charms handy at all times. There is no movie, meal service or complimentary bags of peanuts on this flight, so don't bother asking. Bottom line: If you have to ask a question… don't. We'll be on the ground soon enough. Once again, thank you for flying Eagle Airlines: The airline that allows you to fly now… and pray later."

With a mischievous smirk he clicked off the microphone and handed it back to Kim.

"There. That oughta keep them settled for a while at least." He snickered.

"Settled or freaked out of their minds." Kim sardonically pointed out.

"Whatever. Same dif."

Kim chose not to argue the point.

"So, ready for a bumpy flight?" she asked as Ron put them into position at the end of the 6,000-foot runway. In the distance, the first elements of an organized response could be seen as men began to pour into the area from nearby buildings and vehicles.

"Ugh, I hope not." Ron groaned. "My stomach is still recovering from your driving."

Kim punched him playfully on the arm.

"Watch it, captain nausea. I can be a pretty mean co-pilot."

"Point taken." Ron acquiesced. "Plane is prepped for departure. Ready for throttle up?"

"Ready." Kim confirmed.

"Then let's do this." He responded, grasping the aforementioned levers between their seats and giving them a firm shove. Twin Rolls-Royce engines responded and the Gulfstream charged forward, quickly accelerating to over 100 miles per hour as hangars and stunned responders zipped past outside.

His eyes were on the horizon and both hands were on the yoke the Gulfstream continued to gain speed. The outside world screamed past at an ever-increasing rate as they passed the half-mile mark and Kim began calling out their airspeed.

"One hundred twenty knots!" She informed, bracing herself into her seat and gripping the armrests just a little tighter than she had to.

Ron did not respond, his steely gaze locked onto the world just beyond the windscreen. He was officially in the zone now, and there was nothing that could distract him.

"One hundred fifty knots!" At the far end of the runway, a truck was pulling into their path: A roadblock for an airplane, if such a thing was even possible.

"Ron! They're trying to…"

"I see it!"

Small arms fire rang out as a few stray tracers zipped past the Gulfstream's nose. Still they charged ahead, into the teeth of the mounting response.

"One eighty!" Kim cried out as they passed the one-mile marker, rapidly approaching the end of the runway. Then, wordlessly and with a swift yet smooth motion, Ron buried the yoke into his lap. The nose of the sleek jet reared up like a wild stallion, and the vibrations that had been filling the aircraft suddenly fell silent as the main landing gear broke its tenuous hold with mother earth.

On the ground, vehicles swerved and men dove for the ground as the jet roared overhead, clearing one of the trucks by only a few feet. Heads turned skyward as the great bird flew onward, retracting its landing gear and executing a hard left turn away from the normal flight path.

And in the air, silence reigned throughout the luxury jet's spacious interior. All five occupants relaxed a bit and heaved a sigh of relief as the Gulfstream flew on through quiet air.

"Now _that_ was what I call intense." Kim remarked as she ran her gloved fingers through her long auburn mane. Her arms trembled slightly as she straightened her locks, the sustaining effects of adrenaline finally starting to wane within her system. "And if Doctor Director ever calls again with a 'special mission,' remind me to tell her to take a hike."

"Well you don't have to worry yourself any more, Kimbo," Ron smiled at her from across the cockpit, "'cause this one is done and in the books."

"Careful Ron." Kim winced. "You know how tempting fate like that can sometimes…"

Her sentence abruptly was cut off by a resounding bang and a jolt that felt as though a giant had reached up and swatted the Gulfstream like a jet-powered mosquito. Sirens wailed and a dozen or more warning lights flared to life across the console as she glared daggers at her boyfriend.

"What? I said it ironically!" Ron defensively yelled.

"Any chance that was just turbulence?" Kim pleadingly asked.

"Doubtful." Ron panned, quickly turning his attention to the controls and the multitude of alerts that were now screaming for his attention.

"Thought so." Kim winced, turning her own attentions to the same. "Somehow I just knew this wasn't going to be _that_ easy."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well it looks like I found my stride with this chapter, as things certainly came together a lot quicker than they have previously. Let's just hope the gods of inspiration continue to smile down on me in their infinite generosity. Otherwise we could all be in for a long holiday break.

_Browning M-2 Heavy Machine Gun:_ The weapon Ron had the privilege of operating in this chapter is actually one of the oldest designs currently deployed by any military organization in the world. First developed during the dark days of World War One, the M-2 was the brainchild of legendary American firearms designer John Moses Browning.

As a man who had made significant contributions to nearly every facet of firearms development in the late 1800s, Browning's name was almost synonymous with innovation. It therefore came as no surprise when in 1918 Browning introduced a new twist on an old design. Taking the water-cooled .50 caliber machine gun then typically in use by the military, he removed the water reservoir and added an enlarged barrel to provide more surface area for cooling. The result was a smaller, lighter weapon that did not require an elaborate and heavy liquid cooling system, and was designated the Browning M-2/HB. ("HB" standing for "Heavy Barrel.")

Beloved by troops for its long range, high accuracy and ability to penetrate light to moderate armor, the Browning soon developed a cadre of nicknames, including the colorful moniker of "Ma Duce:" A reference to the "M-2" model designation.

Used extensively from World War Two through to the present day, the venerable M-2 has been mounted on everything from aircraft to vehicles to ships, and has even been carried into combat on the backs of infantry troops. The most current incarnation is known as the Browning Machine Gun, caliber .50, M2, HB, Flexible, but aside from a few minor refinements, it's still the same design first created by John Browning nearly a century ago.

_Gulfstream G-550:_ Widely regarded as the ultimate in executive travel, the G-500 is one of the highest-flying and longest-ranging private jets in the world. With a top speed of Mach 0.885 and a maximum ceiling of 51,000 feet, the G-500 can transport up to 19 passengers and four crew in ultimate comfort from Los Angeles to Tokyo without stopping. Its inter-continental range of 6,750 nautical miles and its ability to take off from runways as short as 5,150 feet make it a favorite of high end business travelers who find benefit in being able to land at the airport closest to their ultimate destination… Not the largest airport in the region.

However, with a price tag that hovers around $60 million depending on options, not many individuals find the G-550 to be within their budget. To defray these costs, many large corporations engage in fractional ownership plans, whereby a small fleet of aircraft is owned jointly between several organizations. Top executives from these companies can then simply use one of the planes when needed, and essentially return the keys when they're done.

_Danica Patrick:_ For those of you who are living in a cave and haven't seen an issue of Sports Illustrated in the last six years, Danica Patrick was the 2005 Indy Car Series Rookie of the Year and is one of the most acclaimed drivers in the field of contemporary automotive racing. Her third-place finish at the 2009 Indianapolis 500 is currently the best-ever finish at that race by a woman.

_E. F. Hutton:_ And for those others among you who are old enough to remember the early 1980s, Ron's little reference was most likely right up your alley. But for those who _weren't_ around to have experienced leg warmers and the original "Thriller" album, run a YouTube search for "EF Hutton Commercial." That should clear everything up quite nicely.

And so we've reached the conclusion of yet another chapter in this little tale of ours. As usual, our heroes can't seem to catch a break, and just when it seems they were out of the woods, the trees come rushing up to meet them. I swear sometimes, if it weren't for bad luck, some folks wouldn't have any luck at all.

So what do you do when you're in a badly damaged airplane going the wrong way with not enough altitude to do anything? Will Ron's pilot skills be enough to carry the day? And what happens after that? And why the heck am I asking you? I'm the one writing this thing! Sheesh!

So anyways… Tune in next time when we learn that what goes up must come down. (And maybe a few other things as well.)

Take care, everyone!

_Nutzkie…_


	7. Laying Down the LAW

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Seven ~**

"What've we got, KP?"

"A whole lot of trouble!"

"Actually, I was hoping for something a little more specific than that!"

There was no humor in Ron's voice with the flippant remark. His face remained grim and set as he struggled with controls that seemed determined to thwart his every attempt at bringing the careening Gulfstream under control. Expectantly, he cast a momentary glance toward the redhead on his right, hoping for some sort of input that might prove useful.

"Hey! You're the expert here!" Kim shouted over the screeching sirens that filled the cramped cockpit. "I haven't got a clue about any of this!"

"The video screen there, on your right." Ron instructed as he reached toward his left and began silencing the alarms. "Use the selector dial to bring up the fault menu. That'll tell you everything."

Quickly, Kim did as she was told and was soon rewarded with a list of all the things that were currently very much wrong with their aircraft.

"Okay, let's see." She pondered, frantically scanning the list. "Hydraulic pressure is falling fast, engine number two is on fire, we've got a cabin leak and your fly is open."

With that last revelation she stared blankly at the screen, not entirely sure what to make of it all. Warily, she stole a glance at her red-faced boyfriend who was fidgeting nervously in his seat.

Guiltily, he reached down to zip himself.

"Like I said," he sheepishly grinned, "the system tells you everything."

"No kidding." She panned, looking back to the galaxy of flashing warning lights before her. "So now what do I do?"

"Blow the bottle on two." Ron told her.

"And I do that how?"

"Look for the two red plungers marked 'extinguisher' on the center console." He said. "Then hit the one on the right."

It didn't take her long to locate the two plungers and do as Ron said. At the same time, Ron reached up to the ceiling above them and activated the emergency fuel cutoff for the engine in question. Their efforts were soon rewarded with at least one of the alerts vanishing from the screen.

"Fire's out." Kin pointed out, checking the remainder of the list. "What about the rest?"

"Not much we can do about those." Ron said, straining to keep the crippled jet on a straight path. "The cabin leak isn't so bad at this altitude, but that hydraulic pressure is gonna be a killer."

"Rephrase, please and thank you!"

"Sorry. I didn't mean that literally." Ron quickly apologized. "It's just that once those gauges hit zero, I'm gonna have little to no control over where this thing comes down."

"Can we make it to the coast?"

"Negative. Pressure won't hold out that long, and even if it would, one engine isn't going to get us nearly that far."

"So how far can we get on one engine?"

"All the way to the scene of the crash."

"Peachy."

"Well it _is_ where we're going."

"So what are you going to do?" Kim asked expectantly. She was trying hard to project an aura of command and confidence, but on the inside her stomach was tying itself into knots with anxiety regarding Ron's unspoken answer. She prayed to whatever god would hear her that her boyfriend had a plan.

"Find an open spot and put her down as softly as I can." Ron replied, his tone betraying no evidence of the butterflies that were currently invading his own stomach.

"And what are the odds of that happening?"

"Straight up honesty?"

"Straight up."

"Well, provided that we can even _find_ a clearing down there, we've gotta worry about crosswinds, wind shear and sudden shifts in our center of gravity. If I can't keep the wings level we could ground loop, if the nose drops we'll flip, and if there's anything nasty hiding in the tall grass then we'll just be a big flaming mess amongst the trees."

"Super. Is there any _good_ news?"

"That _was_ the good news."

"You know what? I'm actually sorry I asked."

"So noted."

"Any idea what just happened?"

"Well it wasn't flak or double-A fire. I know what that stuff feels like and _that_ wasn't it." Ron theorized as he wrestled with the controls. "Judging by the concussion, I'd say some sort of small SAM. Probably a Stinger, if I had to guess."

"So how can I help?"

"Finding me a spot to set this bird down would be a good start."

Frantically, Kim began scanning the horizon. Their disturbingly low altitude didn't help matters any, as some of the distant mountain peaks were already above the level of the windscreen. Quietly, she busied herself with her search, using action to quell worry and silently reminding herself that her boyfriend's extensive training had made him one of the best there was in this sitch. She figured that if engineers could get a washing machine to fly, then her Ron could land it.

Searching left and right, precious seconds ticked by in apprehensive procession as precious feet ticked off the altimeter. It seemed as though the whole world was made of trees at that moment, with any traces of open ground having been swallowed by a carpet of thick forest. Then, just when all hope seemed lost, Kim spotted something out of the corner of her eye. It was fleeting, passing so quickly that for a moment she doubted seeing it at all. But a second glance revealed a splendid reality: A small clearing to the right of their current flight path. Salvation wrapped within a blanket of thick, green grass.

"There!" Kim cried out in jubilation, bouncing in her seat and pointing furiously. "Right down there!"

"Good catch, KP!" Ron agreed, already banking the plane toward their new objective. "Now buckle up. This could get bumpy."

Wordlessly, Kim settled back and tightened her seat belt until it hurt. It may have been an uncomfortable position for her, but there was very little she could do in this sitch. This was Ron's element: The scenario where his skills and his training would carry the day. She was just a passenger on this flight: Just like the people in the cabin behind them.

"_Oh snap! The passengers!"_ she suddenly realized, mentally chastising herself for so easily losing focus. _"They've gotta be totally freaking out by now!"_

Grabbing for the cockpit microphone, she quickly cued up the cabin intercom and spoke in as calm and reassuring a voice as she could muster.

"Okay, folks. There's been a slight change of plans." She cringed, thinking that line probably qualified for understatement of the year honors. "We're going to be putting down for an unexpected stop, so everybody brace for impact. Secure the cabin, fasten your seatbelts, put your heads between your knees…"

"And kiss your butts goodbye." Ron added, much to his girlfriend's consternation.

"Not helping!"

"Not trying!"

Ron ignored the ominous growl that was directed his way and focused his concentration on the task at hand. Landing was always the most dangerous part of any flight, and doing so with a crippled plane and without the benefit of landing gear or a prepared surface made the task exponentially more difficult. And to complicate things even further, the rapid loss of hydraulic fluid meant that the controls were becoming increasingly unresponsive. Still, there were certain procedures that one could follow to take at least some of the guesswork out of the process.

Keeping the nose down to maintain airspeed, he pointed the Gulfstream toward the clearing Kin had indicated. A slight shudder of the airframe alerted his finely honed senses to the presence of a crosswind, and he instinctively compensated by adjusting his angle back to the left. Another gust rocked the plane to the right and he fought to keep the wings level, knowing full well that in this situation there was zero room for error. For while the G-550 may have been one of the highest and fastest flying private planes in the world, when reduced to glide mode it had all the flight characteristics of a free-falling safe. He would get one shot at sticking this landing. There would be no "go-arounds."

The wounded bird continued to bleed precious hydraulic oil as the ground rapidly rose up to meet them. Dead-sticking a craft such as this was never easy, and Ron felt as though he was wrestling with a forty-pound sack of wet flour as he struggled to maintain control of his plane. The tell-tale hiss of air being sucked through hydraulic lines resounded in his oversized ears as the clearing loomed ever larger in the windshield; a postage stamp-sized opening in the trees no larger than the flight decks he was so used to landing on.

It was all about the angles now. If he came in too steep then they would never survive the impact. If his approach was too shallow, they would stall out, and fall short of the clearing entirely. If he was off by more than a few degrees to either side, they would wind up in the trees: A fate no better than any of the others. There was a narrow window of space that he had to fly through if they were to have any hope at all for survival, and hitting that window with a crippled and unresponsive bird was akin to standing at home plate and hitting a baseball into a mop bucket set amongst the centerfield bleachers. The odds against such a thing were almost astronomical.

But this was exactly the sort of thing that he had been trained for. For three long, lonely and exhaustive months he had trained, depriving himself of nearly everything that he cared about in the world. He had gone without his family, his friends, video games and his beloved Bueno Nacho to earn the wings that he so proudly wore upon his heart. And more importantly he had gone without Kim: The one constant in his life that he had always been able to count on.

That separation alone had been a private hell of his own making, but it had been worth every last salty tear and drop of blood when she had seen him in his uniform for the first time. The way her emerald eyes had sparkled when she looked at him… The radiant smile overflowing with pride and admiration… The way she had kissed him with a passion that she had never shown for him before… That was ultimate confirmation that he had made the right choice.

And it had all led him to this place: Sitting at the controls of a 60 million dollar airplane, staring at an impossibly small landing strip, being forced to play "thread-the-needle" with a stubborn and misbehaving plane, and all of it while holding the lives of four other people in his hands, one of whom just so happened to be the one person he loved more than anything else in the world, including life itself. He had the skills… He had the knowledge… He had the experience… He simply needed to put it all together and deliver. It was time to shut up and just do it. It was go time!

Narrowing his eyes and gripping the control column so tight that the knuckles inside of his gloves turned white, he focused every fiber of strength and concentration he had on the task before him. Fighting against vibrations and buffeting forces that threatened to rip the wheel from his grasp, he held the luxury jet steady, keeping the wings trimmed and the nose at a steady five degrees down from level. He barely seemed to notice the sudden lurch as the Gulfstream struck a pocket of turbulent air, his mind the very definition of focus, his attention on that narrow slot of air that he knew he needed to hit. In his imagination he saw a perfect box drawn across the sky before him, as crystal clear as any heads-up display, showing him the way home. A firm, final nudge brought the Gulfstream's needle-like nose into perfect alignment with the center of that imaginary square in the sky, and the sleek airframe slid through the opening as perfectly as a key slipping into a lock.

The ground now raced up to meet them, the flowing waves of tall, native grasses taking on a level of detail worthy of any professional photograph or nature documentary. A swift kick of the rudder brought them into perfect alignment with the field, and digging deep for every last ounce of strength he could muster, Ron buried the column into his lap, pitching the Gulfstream's nose upward and settling the plane's tail onto the ground with a bone jarring thud.

Rebounding from the impact, gravity itself seemed to be momentarily suspended as the Gulfstream bounced fifteen feet into the air, paused for an instant of suspended animation, then settled down once again, this time to stay.

The next thing anyone knew, the interior spaces of the jet were filled with a sickening grinding and scraping noise as the great bird's belly slid across the rough and uneven ground. Items and occupants were tossed haphazardly about as the nose settled in with a violent shudder, and the entire airframe reverberated with every bump and gully that it encountered.

And still, Ron fought for control. Virtually standing up against his seat belt, he stomped down hard onto the rudder pedals, coaxing the aircraft back toward the line of approach. Like herding a five-year-old child intent on wandering off, keeping the still speeding plane on the straight and narrow was a monumental test of both vigilance and stamina. To the center lay salvation. To either side, death and destruction awaited.

With the air speed indicator having been shattered by the initial impact, there was no way of telling for sure how fast they were going. The multi-million dollar jet seemed to slide on unceasingly as seconds and yards flashed by. To the left and right the trees maintained a respectful distance, but straight ahead their companions formed an ominous line of defense that loomed larger and larger in the windscreen with each and every passing moment. Slowly, inertia and friction fought their age-old battle once again, and while friction held the ultimate advantage, it seemed as though the game clock might run out too soon for the intrepid heroes.

Ever more the airframe slowed, bleeding off speed in excruciating increments. Bumps and jolts became more infrequent and less violent, and the fuselage slowly began to pivot to the left. Finally, in the last few feet of available space, the plane gave a final lurch and came to rest with its right wing literally nestled between two massive oaks.

"Betcha' didn't know they also taught parallel parking at the academy, did ya?" Ron grinned, looking across the cockpit at his severely frazzled girlfriend.

"Showoff." Kim groused as she unfastened her seatbelt and proceeded to climb over the center console and toward the cockpit door.

Bursting through the door and into the cabin beyond, her sudden entrance startled the three occupants who were just then shaking off the effects of the rough landing.

"Okay, everyone up and out of this fire trap!" she barked, marching over to the cabin door. With a turn of the latch she laid her shoulder into the offending object and forced it aside, giving way to a momentary rush of fresh air.

Their charges quickly complied, unbuckling their seatbelts and stumbling toward the open door with Ron following closely behind. Seconds later, they were all enjoying the relative safety of open space and took the opportunity to take stock of themselves.

"Everyone okay?" Kim asked the group. "Sound off if you're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"Good over here."

"Does my pride count?"

"No, it doesn't Wally."

"Oh. Then I'm just dandy, I guess."

"All right then. Now that _that's_ settled," Kim addressed the group once more, "we need to come up with a 'Plan B' and fast. It won't take those guys long to find this wreck and I'd really rather not be here when they do. Ron; How far do you think we made it from the field?"

"Can't say for sure." Ron pondered, shading his eyes as he looked back along his line of approach. "Rough guess, I'd venture about four miles or so. Maybe four and a half, but not much more than that."

"I see. Well at least that will buy us _some_ time." Kim pondered herself, the mental gears in her head quickly spinning up and engaging one another. "So here's the plan, everyone. We take five minutes to strip this wreck of anything useful that we can carry. Then, we get the heck out of Dodge and fast."

"Question, KP." Ron broke in. "But just where are we going?"

"That way, towards the coast." Kim indicated, pointing in the aforementioned direction. "Dry land is still enemy territory for the moment, but our side controls the sea. If we can just make it to the shore, then we might have a fighting chance."

"Might? We _might_ have a fighting chance?" Young Wally anxiously interjected. "I must say, I find your self-confidence to be less than inspiring."

"Sorry Wallace, but if you want guaranties then go shop at Smarty Mart." Kim snarked, turning her attention to the shattered plane. "Out here things are a little more fluid than that. There's no promises on this ride."

"Well I don't recall asking to come on this ride of yours, now do I?"

That quip stopped Kim dead in her tracks and drew the attention of all other members of the group. Suddenly, what had been a warm afternoon developed a frigid chill that could freeze sunshine out of the sky.

"So you're saying you'd rather still be bottled up as a human shield for those goons?" Kim asked, turning toward the young prince, icicles hanging dangerously on her every word.

"Well I certainly wouldn't call these conditions an improvement." Wally stated, thrusting his regal nose into the air. "So far I've been dragged from my home, bossed around, pitched about, shot at, and now I'm standing in the middle of nowhere with none of the comforts which I am ordinarily accustomed to and being told that I may very well be heading into circumstances that are even _worse."_

"Now you listen here you ungrateful little, snot-nosed, royal pain in the…"

"Kim!"

Ron's restraining hand brought her up short, and his pleading look caused the brewing rant to die on her lips.

Wordlessly, she spun around and returned to the plane, but not before flashing young Wallace a glare that would have left Attila the Hun begging for his mommy.

Silently, the rest of the group followed suit, and soon all members of the party were busily scavenging every square inch of the airframe for useful items. While the royal family searched the aft compartments and Kim busied herself in the cockpit, Ron turned his attention to some of the plane's overhead storage bins. These had yielded a small handful of potentially useful items, which he dutifully deposited in a large equipment-filled duffle bag he had retrieved from their "borrowed" jeep, when he ran across one bin that seemed bound and determined to remain closed.

"_Huh. Must've gotten torqued in the crash somehow."_ He surmised, giving the offending panel an even stronger tug and meeting with the same result. _"Okay then, time for the brute force approach."_

Searching the duffle, he retrieved a short but stout length of plastic tubing and began swinging it like a battering ram, slowly pounding the stubborn hatch into submission. He had landed nearly a half-dozen good whacks when a restraining hand on his shoulder stopped him dead and roughly spun him around to face… Kim?

"What in the bloody you-know-what do you think you're doing?" she nearly screamed: A detail that left Ron beyond confused.

"Wha… What does it look like I'm doing?" he stammered. "I'm trying to get this blasted thing open."

"Word of advice, Ron." Kim steamed. "Next time, read before you bash!"

"Huh?"

Kim pointed accusingly at the tube he held in his hands. Keeping a wary eye on his still seething girlfriend, he glanced down and began to read the stenciled lettering that he had completely failed to notice moments before.

_"M72 LAW… Firing Instructions… Pull pin, extend rear cover downward, extend inner tube toward…"_

He dropped the item to the floor and recoiled back as if it were a live rattlesnake, letting loose with a startled yelp in the process.

"If you're gonna be busting stuff up, try not using a bazooka to do the busting." She snapped as she turned around and stalked back to the cockpit, muttering something about "idiot men" and not thinking things through.

For his part, Ron stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the item before him. It looked so innocuous from the outside: Little more than a piece of plastic pipe with a few odd protrusions. There was no outward sign of the four-pound high velocity rocket nestled within its cylindrical interior. It looked as harmless as a stick lying on the ground.

Cautiously, he edged toward the launcher and gently nudged it with his toe. What he was expecting to happen, he wasn't sure, but there was no mistaking the wave of relief that washed over him when the only result was the weapon sliding a few inches further away.

Then, an odd thought washed over him, and he reached down to pick the item up. It was small and light, which met the ease of portability requirement for stuff to take along, and although he couldn't think of a specific use for such an item at the moment, it seemed a handy sort of thing to take along when hiking across a battlefield.

Absent mindedly, he stuffed the weapon back into the duffle with the rest of his scroungings and didn't give the matter another thought.

Two minutes later, the group was assembled outside the wreckage once again with Kim standing before them, barking out orders to their charges.

"Okay, listen up people!" she instructed, doing an uncanny impression of Steve Barkin. "It's going to be dark soon, and I want to put as much distance between us and this flying tin can as possible. Step lively and try to keep up. Everyone is responsible for carrying their own weight and their own gear. Take only the things that are necessary for survival."

"Is this the point where you're going to tell them about the collection of Gary Newman CDs that you're packing?" Alexia asked, leaning in toward her glowering cousin.

"Shhhhh!" Wally admonished.

"Beg pardon?" Kim broke in, a look of extreme annoyance on her face. "A music collection? Are you serious? I said take only items necessary for survival!"

"It's a limited edition collector's set, thank you very much!" Wally snapped back. "And I can't live without it!"

Kim's mind coughed and sputtered as it searched for some means of comprehending the sitch before her. Years of dealing with the villains of the world had left her well versed in the ways of narcissism. But the young royal before her was taking things to a level that would have impressed Drakken himself. In the forefront of her mind she grasped for an appropriate phrase or comeback, while in the back of her mind she was peripherally aware of her fingers balling up into a tightly clenched fist.

A wise and learned person once defined stress as a conflict that arises when prudence and civility collide with the urge to beat the living tar out of some sap-faced jerk that desperately needs it. If such a definition holds true, then Kim was at that moment the most stressed-out person in the Eastern Hemisphere. The urge to lash out was rising within her, threatening to overwhelm the last remnants of her self-control.

It seemed like divine intervention then when Alexia stepped between the fuming redhead and her chronically oblivious cousin.

"Oh I think you'll manage to pull through, Wallace." She sarcastically groaned, grabbing the pack from Wally's shoulder and dumping the collection of shimmering disks onto the ground. "Besides, it's not like you can't get more."

"But… But these are _limited edition!"_ Wally loudly protested.

"Yeah. So limited that they only made fifty thousand of them." Alexia quipped. "And if you get bored with that, then you can download the whole thing off of E-Tunes."

"Well… I still want…"

"Wallace?"

"Yes Alexia?"

"Quit while you're ahead… which in this case is just an expression." She remarked, shouldering her own bag and turning to face Kim.

"I think we're ready now." She informed the stunned cheerleader. "Lead the way."

"Yeah-yeah… leading… right." Kim stammered, taking a moment to regain her composure. "So we're clear then? Everybody stick together and follow me."

"Uh, KP?"

"Yes Ron?"

"Can I add a few things?"

"Uh, I suppose." She consented with a worried look on her face. Now was most definitely not the time for Ron's randomness to make an appearance.

"Now I want everyone to take special note." Ron began addressing the group. "It's going to be dark in a few hours, so I want sound and noise discipline. That means nothing shiny… nothing that's loose… nothing that can rattle, jingle, beep or by any means give away our position. Also, if we're forced to walk through soft ground, I'll want everyone to spread out. Walk with at least ten yards between each of you. It'll make us harder to track. We'll camp once it's too dark to walk, but until then be quick and quiet, and keep moving."

"Ready when you are, KP." Ron concluded, turning back toward his girlfriend who was oddly mesmerized at how clear and well thought out his speech had been. It seemed so strange to hear such tactically sound and confidently spoken advice coming from his lips, but that was exactly what she had just heard, and it filled her with a feeling that was equal parts awe and pride.

"Wow, Ron. Where'd you learn all that?" she asked in awe.

"SERE training." he answered.

"Sere?"

"Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape." He quickly explained. "It's something that all new airmen have to go through during their basic."

"Oh. Right, right… gotcha." She stammered, adjusting the pack on her own shoulders, reassuming her aura of authority and squaring herself toward the trees before her. "Okay then everyone! Let's move out!"

They had taken no more than five or six steps when an ominously familiar rumble came from the woods behind them. Ron's shoulders slumped in total dejection as Kim executed an involuntary face palm.

"And here we go again." She sighed into her hand, thinking that the predictability of it all would actually be funny if it wasn't so serious.

"Just a suggestion on my part, but maybe we should go with plan B?" Ron observed, glancing in the direction of the noise. In the near distance, trees could be seen to sway violently as great flocks of birds abandoned their perches and fled skyward ahead of the approaching threat.

"And what's that?" Wally asked nervously.

"RUN!" Ron shouted, just as the trees at the edge of the clearing parted to reveal yet another destructo-bot bearing down on them.

The group didn't need to be told twice. All members scattered fleeing toward the trees in the direction that Kim indicated, while Ron fell into a "sweeper" position behind them, making certain that no one became separated and lost amongst the chaos.

Down the slope and through the trees they ran, dodging branches and brush with the sound of the advancing automaton ever present behind them. With the grace and fluidity of a pack of caffeinated gerbils they dropped over a shallow escarpment and dashed through another smaller clearing before disappearing into the trees on the far side…

All except for Ron.

Pulling up short of the tree line, he chanced a look back. Although he couldn't see anything, the tremendous racket told him that the mechanical menace was still in pursuit. He allowed himself a small, inward smile at the fact that while destructo-bots may carry impressive amounts of both armor and firepower, stealth was most definitely not part of their forte.

However such lack of sneakiness was not going to help their current situation. Being a machine, the mechanical being was immune to such human frailties as fear and fatigue. It would undoubtedly pursue them across the width of the entire island if such became necessary. It would not stop until it had caught them or been knocked out of commission.

And it was with that thought that his mind flashed to the duffle he carried slung over his shoulder. Or more specifically, the cylindrical object that only minutes before he had used as an impromptu battering ram.

Stripping off his pack, he dashed over to a nearby stone outcrop and dropped to one knee. With the instructions he had read ringing strongly in his mind, he reached into the nylon bag and withdrew the tube-like launcher. He was amazed at the ease with which the weapon deployed, the pin and latch operating smoothly and the rear cover folding downward with very little effort at all. In a fluid motion he extended the inner tube to the rear, feeling the detent lever of the firing mechanism click into place beneath the plunger-like trigger.

He barely noticed the droid crashing through the trees and into the clearing as he continued with his task, nor did he realize the sudden appearance of Rufus on his left shoulder. With a speed and grace that surprised both man and mole rat he hoisted the weapon onto his right shoulder and flipped up the twin sights near its front end. His right hand firmly cupped the launcher and held it in place, fingers laced atop the trigger, while his left steadied its muzzle. Peering through the forward reticle sight, he noted that ranges were marked off in 25-meter increments and made a quick estimate of the distance between him and the still-advancing droid. He would get one shot at this… He needed to make it count.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he allowed the droid to come closer, betting his life that the cluster of rocks he was crouched behind would prevent the droid from firing right away. He estimated that his target needed to be within 150 yards to have any real chance of making the kill shot he needed, but given the circumstances, closer certainly seemed to be better.

The droid now accelerated its pace, homing in on the young blonde's position. He had been targeted; there was no doubt about that now. He only hoped that his dumb skills and a borrowed, second-hand weapon would be enough to carry the day.

The very ground beneath him began to shake as the mechanical monster charged, weapons raised and ready. The gap between them began to quickly vanish as the rampaging droid closed the range. Two hundred yards… a hundred and fifty… one hundred yards… And still Ron held his fire, beads of sweat cascading down his neck. Breathing became rapid and shallow, and a rising wave of nausea began ebbing into his throat. He fought back mightily to maintain his composure, focusing on breathing deeply and deliberately. Rufus squeaked out an excited warning as the droid came ever closer, raising one of its massive blasters and drawing a bead dead onto the crouching teen. Time was up. It was now or never.

Almost reflexively, Ron squeezed the trigger atop the weapon's outer casing and felt the distinctive click of the percussion cap firing. An instant later the space around him was engulfed in light and sound as two white hot sheets of flame leapt forth from both ends of the tube. The 66-millimeter rocket almost instantly accelerated to 475 feet per second, racing out to meet the oncoming threat and striking it dead square center on its chest plate.

The resulting explosion punched through the droid's armored carapace like cardboard and exited out its back, launching a shower of shrapnel and flaming debris into the grassland beyond. Its glowing optical sensors instantly went dark as it shuddered violently and fell forward, carried on by its own downhill momentum. Executing what could only be described as a perfect belly flop, its lifeless metallic body slammed hard into the dirt and slid several more yards before coming to rest less than ten feet from the trembling blonde and his hairless companion.

Meanwhile, several hundred yards behind the battle, the concussion of the blast rolled through the trees with a mighty roar. Four heads snapped around in unison, startled by the sudden audio intrusion and intensely curious as to its nature.

"Strangely, I do not find this occurrence to be any more disconcerting than our previous circumstances." King Wallace observed aloud.

Kim's thoughts however, were focused on a far different topic.

"Wait! Where's Ron?" she asked, apprehension rising in her voice.

"What? So now we're supposed to keep track of your partner _too?"_ Wally whined. "I must say, you certainly expect a great deal from your charges."

"I… don't… know." Alexia pondered, her own worried tone echoing that of Kim. "He was right behind us just a second ago."

Kim's agile mind quickly raced through the current circumstances and reviewed all the possible conclusions.

"Oh no! Oh GOD no!"

Without a word to the group she turned and raced back up the hillside, vaulting over rocks and low hanging branches like they weren't even there in a mad dash to retrace their line of retreat.

"Oh, so now you're _abandoning_ us?" Wally cried out. "You know, when this is over, it's things like this that will negatively effect your tip!"

She paid no attention to the whiny royal. Her mind was focused on much more important matters. An explosion of unknown origin and a missing boyfriend could not add up to anything good. And if anything bad had happened to Ron… Well, her mind _really_ wasn't ready to process such an idea right now.

As she neared the clearing that they just passed moments before, the smell of cordite assaulted her nostrils, confirming that some sort of ordinance had just exploded nearby. Bursting forth from the tree line, a pall of bluish-gray smoke hung low in the air, obscuring much of the nearby detail. A deathly silence enshrouded the clearing like the smoke, casting a darkened sense of foreboding across the green and matted grass.

"Ron?" Kim squeaked, the name catching in her throat. There was no sign of him or anything else through the wafting gray shroud, and her inquiry went unanswered. She called out his name again, this time even more weakly than the first, and received an identical response.

Her mind began to swim with a laundry list of possible worst-case scenarios, and all of them made her recoil in horror. She felt her knees go weak and her vision go dim, her inner voice repeating again and again that this could not, in fact, be happening. There was simply no way that it could be real… It couldn't end like this.

Then, a gentle breeze that had been blowing in from the coast briefly gained strength, stirring the smoke across the field. The gray veil lifted ever so slightly in compliance with the wind's wishes, and revealed the faint outline of a crouching figure, frozen in position with a long slender object perched on one shoulder.

"Ron!" Kim shouted in relief, rushing blindly ahead through the remaining smoke. Within seconds she was kneeling beside him, grasping his face in her hands and pulling him close.

"My God, you scared me Ron!" She reprimanded, looking deep into his chocolate brown eyes. "Are you okay? Please, tell me you're okay!"

"Just… fine… KP." He stammered, the blank "deer-in-the-headlights" expression never leaving his face. His eyes stayed focused dead ahead and his expression never changed, even when Kim planted a passionate, tear-fueled kiss directly on his lips.

"Ron?" she prodded, worried by his suddenly odd behavior. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Never better." He insisted. "Although would you mind doing me a favor?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Help me let go of this thing."

"Come again?"

"I can't seem to loosen my grip."

Sure enough, with all the adrenaline that was currently coursing through his veins, the teen hero's hands had set around the plastic tube like twin vices, completely disregarding his desire to release. It took nearly a full minute of Kim prying to finally wrestle his stubborn fingers into submission, and the spent launcher clattered unceremoniously to the ground.

For Kim, it was an opportunity to appreciate what she had nearly lost. Without thinking she threw her arms around him and pulled his still tense form tight against her self, wrapping him up in a tight and protective embrace.

"What the hell were you thinking, doubling back like that?" she asked as she held him close. "Have you lost your cotton-pickin' mind? And why didn't you just use the suit?"

"The wha…?"

"Your battle suit, Ron. You know? The one Wade made for you? The one you're currently wearing?" She leaned back and lifted one of his arms up for effect.

Ron's gaze instantly fell, and Kim knew exactly what that meant.

"You forgot you were wearing it, didn't you?" she sighed.

"Well it's not like it's a regular part of my wardrobe." Ron defensively insisted. "I haven't exactly had time to work it into my style yet."

Kim groaned in frustration. Sometimes her boyfriend could be so clueless, but even when his methods were questionable, there was no questioning his intent. He had done what was necessary to protect their group. And he had, in the end, succeeded.

"Well all's well that ends well, I suppose." She sniffed, her expression softening as she clung to him once again. "Nice work, hero."

"Just doing the sidekick thing." He shrugged into her embrace. "You know… Functioning in the support slash distraction role."

"Partner." Kim tearfully corrected. "We've been through this before. You're my partner, not my sidekick."

"Well I think we can argue semantics another day." He observed, pulling back slightly, much to Kim's disappointment. "Right now we have bigger fish to fry."

"I thought you brought sausage for the trip." Kim giggled, thankful for the small amount of levity.

"Apparently you doubt my culinary skills." Ron chortled in return, stepping into a rather realistic Zorpox impression. "For that you must be educated as to the full extent of my powers."

"Oooh, educate me. Educate me, master!" Kim sing-songed, contentedly playing along with the farce. "I _so_ love it when you educate me."

"We'll just see how eager you are after you've experienced 'Death by Chocolate.'" Ron cackled as the pair began walking arm-in-arm back toward the trees. "That is, of course, if you can first survive my 'Gratuitous Injury by Caramel.'"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Whoa! Sixteen pages without a scene break! That's gotta be some sort of personal record or something.

But whatever personal firsts or worsts were committed during this chapter, I do hope everyone enjoyed this little installment of our developing tale. It looks like our friends, like it or not, have just joined the infantry. Now they get to drag themselves and three untrained civilians through a war zone filled with all kinds of things that can seriously hurt you. What could possibly go wrong, I ask you.

As for today's serving of military alphabet soup:

_SAM:_ A military acronym meaning "Surface-to-Air Missile." It's a blanket term used to describe any guided, rocket-powered weapon designed to engage an aircraft in flight.

_FIM-92 Stinger:_ The Stinger is a one-man shoulder-launched SAM designed for use against low and slow flying aircraft such as helicopters and jets during take-off and landing.

Developed by the American military and first deployed in 1981, the Stinger is classified as a Man-Portable Air-Defense System. (MANPADS) By using an infrared homing system for guidance, the Stinger can lock onto the heat signature of any targeted aircraft and use onboard guidance to close in and make the kill. With a three-kilogram warhead and a top speed of Mach 2.2, the Stinger can effectively engage targets out to a range of three miles and an altitude of 12,500 feet.

To date, the Stinger has been credited with 270 confirmed kills.

_SERE Training:_ The Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape (SERE) program is a training regimen placed into service by the United States Air Force in 1953 following the conclusion of the Korean War. Originally an Air Force-only project, the program was designed to instruct American aircrews in techniques of avoiding capture, wilderness survival and resisting torture. During the Vietnam War the program was expanded to include the Army and Navy, and is used today to also train civilian employees of the Defense Department and private military contractors.

_M-72 LAW Rocket:_ The M-72 Light Anti-tank Weapon (LAW) was developed during the 1950s as a replacement for the M-9 "Bazooka" first deployed by American forces during World War Two. Intended to be smaller and more portable than the bulky steel bazooka, the M-72 featured lightweight Fiberglas construction with a collapsible design that made it very easy to carry.

The weapon consists of a rocket packed inside of a launcher made up of two tubes, one inside the other. While closed, the outer assembly acts as a watertight container for the rocket and the percussion cap-type firing mechanism that fires the weapon. The outer tube contains the trigger, arming handle, front and rear sights, and the rear cover. The inner tube contains the channel assembly that houses the firing pin assembly, including the detent lever. When extended, the inner tube telescopes outward toward the rear, guided by the channel assembly which rides in an alignment slot in the outer tube's trigger housing assembly. This causes the detent lever to move under the trigger assembly in the outer tube, both locking the inner tube in the extended position and cocking the weapon. Once armed, the weapon is no longer watertight even if the launcher is collapsed into its original configuration.

When fired, the propellant in the rocket motor completely combusts before exiting the weapon's muzzle, producing gases of around 1,400 °F. Propelled forward without significant recoil, the 66-millimeter warhead emerges from the launcher with six fins springing out from the base of the rocket tube to stabilize the warhead's flight.

Once fired in combat, the launcher is required by military regulations to be destroyed, preventing its use by the enemy: A task most often accomplished by placing the spent tube on the ground and smashing it with the butt end of a rifle.

First deployed late in the Korean Conflict, the LAW achieved lasting fame more than ten years later in the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam. Loved by troops for its rugged durability and ease of use, it quickly came to be seen as a worthy counterpart to the Russian-built RPG-7.

And so with their bird trashed and their charges in tow, Team Possible sets off on a cross-country trek through exceedingly hostile territory. What possible trouble awaits them? Well if I didn't maintain some level of mystery in our relationship then you might all grow bored and stop loving me, wouldn't you?

As always, leave a review and receive a reply… Simple as that.

Oh, and since this most likely will be my last posting of the this year, may I take this moment to wish everyone in our wonderful fan fiction community a very merry Christmas and a most wonderful New Year. 2009 was a blast to be sure: Now we can all look forward to 2010!

As they say in Jersey: "God bless us all, all youz guys!"

_Nutzkie…_


	8. Into the Lion's Den

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Eight ~**

Chasing the sun as it sank toward the western horizon, the group made its way through the trees, ever mindful of enemy patrols, destructo-bots and any number of other pitfalls that might be encountered amongst the lengthening shadows of dusk. It wasn't long before the forest gave way to rocky grasslands with occasional clumps of brush and small trees; a change in topography that carried the benefit increased visibility, but also the liability of increased exposure. The team was forced to be extra careful with their movements, else their location be compromised.

It was after seven o'clock when darkness finally fell over the land, forcing the group to stop for the night. Kim selected a shallow wash near a clump of manzanita bushes as a campsite on the basis that it would provide at least some measure of cover. With everyone exhausted from the day's travails, they pitched camp, satisfying themselves with ready-to-eat rations, as Ron dared not build a fire in such an exposed location.

The camp dinner was quick and satisfying if not entirely flavorful, and soon gave way to a sense of overwhelming fatigue as the day's events and the evening's drop in adrenaline finally caught up with them. Even young Wally was too tired to complain, as all three members of the royal family were soon asleep on the hard, bare ground.

And that left two teen heroes with the task of deciding their own sleeping arrangements.

"Soooooo…" Kim sighed, stretching to relieve the tension in her back and shoulders, "You want first shift or should I?"

"First shift?" Ron asked perplexedly.

"First watch shift." Kim explained through a yawn. "We need to keep a lookout at all times, but we need to sleep as well."

"Ah, gotcha." Ron agreed, watching his girlfriend groggily rub her eyes. That fact alone told him what his decision should be.

"You know what. Why don't I take first watch?" he suggested. "'Cause honestly, you're looking pretty fried right 'bout now."

"So not the drama, Ron. I'm just fine."

"And that's also just your second yawn in as many minutes."

Embarrassed, Kim covered her mouth with her hand and glanced sheepishly away. Ron had caught her red-handed, and what's more was that he was right. After nearly 24 solid hours on the run she was beyond beat. Her batteries needed a recharge, and badly.

"Okay, you win." She admitted, setting the alarm on her wrist Kimmunicator. "Pick a spot to set up. I'll relieve you when it's my turn."

"How long do you think?"

"I figure about three hours. That'll make six for the rest of the group. Should be enough to get everyone rested and still be able to get moving again before daybreak."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Ron concurred, climbing up a shallow slope to the rim of the wash and taking a seat beside one of the manzanita plants. He grabbed a long and stout stick that he had picked up earlier in the day and laid it across his shoulder, cradling it as one would a bo staff. "Sleep well, KP." He said, turning his gaze to the surrounding darkness.

Finding a spot under a bush near the rest of the group, Kim lay down and tried to do as Ron suggested. But to spite the sheer exhaustion that she was experiencing at that very moment, sleep would not come. She turned over with a grunt and pinched her eyes tightly shut, willing herself to sleep. But her efforts were without fruit, and emerald orbs opened to face the darkness once again. She sighed deeply. Clearly, the sitch was just too much for sleep.

Sleep. Now that was a laugh. How could anyone even think of sleeping with everything that had happened that day? Only one day in and already the mission was proving far more trying that anything she had ever attempted in the past. Destructo-bots, henchmen trained by Shego, guys with guns, a plane crash, and now being trapped behind enemy lines, surrounded by danger and with little hope of escape. With all that had taken place it was a miracle that they weren't dead or captured already.

In fact, there was only one reason that neither death nor capture had claimed them that day. And that reason was currently sitting just a few yards away, keeping a shepherd's vigil over their oddball flock.

And it was his reassurance that she needed now more than anything else in the world.

Staying quiet to avoid disturbing their "guests," Kim rose to her feet and climbed the short incline to Ron's position. Sensing movement in the dark, Ron momentarily tensed until a flash of moonlight illuminated a fiery mane of red hair.

"What's wrong, KP?" he asked concernedly. "Is there a problem?"

"Shhhh. There's no problem." Kim reassured him. "Just trying to sleep is all."

"But isn't that what…"

"Shhhhhhh."

Without another word, she lay down again, this time placing her head gently in Ron's lap. With one hand on his knee and his warmth on her cheek, she felt instantly more relaxed, and sighed a sigh of utter contentment as he began to gently stroke her hair.

She reached up to lock fingers with him as she nestled deeper into his protective warmth. This was what she needed: The connection of physical contact assuring her that she was not alone in this trial. Ron was with her, right beside her, and as long as she had that then she could still do anything.

And moments later, she was fast asleep.

* * *

Before the sun had even broken across the eastern horizon, the group was moving again. Following the natural contours of the land they made their way westward, heading toward what they hoped was salvation from the sea. But the road to salvation is fraught with peril, as many philosophers have pointed out, and even the best-laid plans are sometimes found to be lacking.

"Man. What is this? Like the fifth one of these that we've run into today? Sixth, maybe?" Ron whispered.

"Shhhh!" Kim admonished. "Hiding time means voices down."

But while she verbally reprimanded her partner, silently she was sighing in agreement. Ever since the sun had risen that morning, it seemed as though they had done nothing but duck one patrol after another. It was a nearly continual game of hide and seek that they were playing, and it made forward progress difficult if not impossible. It seemed beyond comprehension to her that the enemy could have mustered enough resources to blanket an entire side of the island to this degree. She began to wonder if perhaps the very mission itself had been compromised.

As the sound of shuffling boots faded into the distance, she silently signaled for her team to emerge from their hiding places and begin their westward trek anew. Glancing down to the Kimmunicator on her wrist, she keyed the device to bring up the familiar vestige of Wade once again.

"Hey Kim. How goes the fight?" he asked.

"Like lamb stew: Everything is going to pot." Kim admitted disdainfully. "Please tell me you've got good news."

"Well I don't know whether it's good or bad, but I received an update from G.J. Central Command." Said Wade. "To spite the setbacks on your end, they're going ahead with the invasion as planned. The first wave hit the northeastern beaches this morning at oh-seven-hundred sharp."

"Wonderful." Kim groaned. "Abso-freakin'-lutely wonderful."

"On the bright side, it will probably draw some heat off of you guys." Wade was quick to point out.

"And on the other hand it's like smacking a hornet's nest with stick." Kim dryly observed. "Except we're the ones standing directly underneath it."

"I'm just telling you what's happening right now." Wade said, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "Maybe there's something on your end that I can help with?"

"God, I hope so." Kim sighed. "We've got enemy personnel coming out of the woodwork here. They're thicker than ants at a Fourth of July picnic."

"Sorry Kim." Wade admitted. "But from what my scans are showing, they're really flooding the zone. I'm tracking more than a dozen patrols within a square mile of your current position."

"But that doesn't make any sense Wade!" Kim quietly ranted into the tiny screen. "How could they possibly know where to focus like that? I mean sure, they know where the plane came down and all that, and can use that as a starting point, but there's a whole lot of different directions we could have gone from there, and believe me, we were careful about covering our back trail!"

"I don't know what to tell you Kim," Wade shrugged, "except that you'd better hide again because that group that just passed you is doubling back."

"Great." Kim growled, her frustration with the sitch growing even stronger. "I swear. It's like we're sending up flares or waving a big red flag around. Or like somebody's flat out broadcasting reports on where we…"

She abruptly stopped in mid-rant, realization suddenly striking her like a bolt from the blue.

"Kim?" Wade asked concernedly. "Kim? Are you all right?"

"When did they double back, Wade?" she blankly asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean just that. Exactly when did that patrol decide to hang a U-turn and double back this way?"

"Uh, about thirty seconds ago." Wade informed.

"Before or after I called you?"

"After." Wade said, checking his logs to be sure. "Almost immediately after."

The gears of Kim's mind quickly accelerated as she thought the logical inferences of this revelation through to their conclusions, and she didn't like where that road led.

"Wade!" she whispered coarsely. "I think they're tracking us through the Kimmunicator!"

The young computer genius could only blink in utter disbelief at Kim's assertion.

"Seriously Kim." He dismissively waved. "I've got the Kimmunicator rigged to transmit in a UHF band with 48-bit digital encryption on a modulated carrier wave. There's no way anyone could ever even detect that signal, let alone decipher it."

"Does anyone include Ron?"

"Come again?"

"Zorpox, Wade." Kim pointed out. "When Ron was Zorpox, he was able to scan the Kimmunicator's transmission frequency. He saw me coming from a mile away."

"Well, uhhhhhh…" Wade stuttered. It wasn't often that the young super genius could be found at a loss for answers, but Kim's line of reasoning had caught him completely off guard. Ron _had_ successfully cracked the Kimmunicator's operating frequency and encryption codes during the Zorpox incident, and without any outside assistance to boot. Suddenly, the young tech wizard was struck with the sinking suspicion that he may have placed too much faith in his own technological prowess.

For her part, Kim sensed the onset of apprehension in her webmaster's expression and decided to take a more direct approach to the problem at hand.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do." She said. "For the moment I'm ordering a full communications blackout. All of us here are gonna duck and cover again while this patrol passes, then once we're clear we're gonna run a little experiment to see just where our problem is."

"Okay." Wade concurred, beginning the shut down procedures for several portions of his system. "What kind of experiment did you have in mind?"

"I'll explain later." Kim tersely said. "For now, we've gotta find cover. Catch you in five."

And with that, the forest of monitors before the young genius went dark.

* * *

A little over an hour later, two metallic glints sparkled briefly atop a high ridge. It was the sort of thing that would have been easily noticed, had not all others in the vicinity been focused somewhere else, and that was just fine by those in question. In fact diverting focus was a major reason for their being where they were at the moment.

"How much longer." Kim asked, peering through the advanced electro-optical binoculars that she held pressed to her face.

"'Bout two more minutes." Ron answered, glancing at his watch. "We told Rufus to go live at exactly one-thirty, so if he's on time…"

"He's on time." Kim reassured. "If there's one person… er… rodent you can count on in a sitch like this, it's Rufus."

"True that." Ron agreed, staring down at the landscape below through his own binoculars. "So where is the little guy setting up again?"

"Down there." Kim indicated, pointing to a small clump of trees amidst an open field, about a mile from their mountaintop position. "Plenty of cover for him to hide in, and if anybody approaches we'll have no problem spotting them."

"So do you really think they've hacked Wade's system?"

"I dunno. I hope not." Kim sighed, lowering the high-powered device from her face and lightly pinching the bridge of her nose. "But still, it's the only way I can see for them to be knowing our every move like they have."

"Yeah, but this is Wade we're talking about here!" Ron insisted. "A bona-fide super genius! The kid who aced high school and college in twelve weeks! The person who actually spies on the C.I.A! The C.I.A. Kim!"

"He's also human, Ron." Kim countered. "And even the best technology in the world still has its limits."

"Yeah, I know." Ron morosely admitted. "It's just that Wade's always been like this computer superman or something, you know? And it's really painful to think that maybe there're things he can't do."

"I know, Ron. I know." Kim agreed. "But right now we need to stay focused on the here and now. What's our status?"

"Our status is…" Ron said as he checked his watch once more, "Live! We are officially on the air."

* * *

A mile west and several hundred feet below Team Possible's position, a tiny pink form concealed himself within the roots of a tree and watched the seconds tick off of the digital device he held clasped in his paws. He knew his role in this plan well, having been expertly briefed by his two favorite humans. He was to wait until the exact moment that the clock he held struck 1:30. Then he was to activate the device's communication feature, transmitting an intermittent signal to anyone with the ability to listen. He knew that his humans were watching from afar, and would take careful note of everything that happened from here on out. If nothing happened, then gravy. If the goons suddenly swarmed his position, then they had a major problem.

The device beeped suddenly, startling him and causing him to nearly drop his charge into the dirt. He fumbled with the item, turning it over to confirm that it was indeed the appointed time. Then, just as he had been instructed, he keyed the "transmit" button and patiently waited.

* * *

"See anything down there?"

"Not yet. All's still quiet on the western… Whoa! Check it out!"

"What? What is it?"

"My hangnail magnified ten times!"

"Okay. First of all, eewww." Kim groaned. "And secondly, head in the game, Ron!" She sometimes swore keeping her boyfriend on task was like herding cats in a rubber mouse factory.

The pair wordlessly turned their collective attention back to the landscape below them. Peering through state-of-the-art optics, they both knew what they were looking for. If Kim's hunch was correct, then the field below would soon be crawling with enemy agents. If her theory was off base, then nothing would happen, which was either better or worse… She wasn't sure which.

But whatever the larger meaning, they fortunately didn't have long to wait.

"Look, down there!" Ron suddenly and excitedly called out. "Check the seven o'clock."

Kim closely inspected the area Ron had indicated. Sure enough, an enemy patrol was emerging from the bushes. Pausing in the open, they only took enough time to make a cursory inspection of their surroundings before making a B-line straight for the thicket where Rufus was hiding.

And they weren't alone.

"Eleven o'clock." Kim called out as another group emerged along the far side of the clearing. "And another at two."

"Methinks this answers the question." A crestfallen Ron suggested, lowering his specs and looking forlornly at the redhead beside him.

"No argument here." Kim agreed. "They're definitely tracing our communications."

"So what do we do now?"

"Well we start by going to full radio silence." Kim stated, keeping a careful watch over the rapidly gathering congregation in the clearing. "Until Wade can come up with something to jam their scans, we're gonna be on our own."

"That tanks." Ron pointed out.

"State the obvious much?" Kim mocked before continuing. "Secondly, the coast is now out of the question. They've probably been plotting our line of travel, so even if they can't track us anymore, they still know where we're headed and can put up a line of containment in front of us."

"So if heading west is off the table…?"

"Then we head north." Kim concluded. "We'll use the mountains for cover as best we can and make our way toward the airborne landing zones. Hopefully, with a lot of effort and a little luck, we'll get picked up by a friendly patrol before the local glee club catches up to us."

"Weeeeelllll… I don't know, KP." Ron apprehensively hedged. "You've got a lot of serious 'what-ifs' going on in that plan."

"I know that, Ron! Don't you think I know that?" Kim admitted, burying her face in her hands and throwing her head back in frustration. "But with the way things stand right now, we really don't have much of a choice! It's either take our chances with the northern route or throw our hands up and surrender right here!"

"So you're saying we have a choice then?"

"Ron!"

"Right, right… Sorry." Ron quickly acquiesced. "So we're going 'Mission Unplugged' then, huh?"

"Pretty much." Kim sighed in resignation. "Let's grab the group and get moving. When the airborne drops day after tomorrow this whole area is gonna be turned into a branch office of Hell. And the farther north we are when that happens, the better.

* * *

Progress for the remainder of the day came at a pleasingly accelerated rate. With the bulk of enemy activity still located to the west, the group found few obstacles as they moved northward across the landscape. Having managed to successfully scurry unnoticed through the grass, Rufus soon rejoined the team and took his usual place on Ron's shoulder. By nightfall they had made it to another grove of trees, and with the ample cover Ron felt comfortable building a small, well-shielded fire. Soon he was hard at work preparing a group meal from the meager ingredients he found at his disposal. With Kim out collecting firewood, the team's "dinner guests" had front-row seats to the spectacle of a culinary master in action.

King Wallace seemed duly impressed as the young man before him sliced and diced his way through a selection of wild fruits and herbs that he had collected earlier in the evening, then mixed the result with several sausage links that he had seemingly produced from nowhere. The entire ensemble then went onto the fire as Ron turned his attention to the Herculean task of converting their pre-packaged rations into something approaching edible.

For his part, young Wally seemed both perplexed and mesmerized by the show. It was an understandable reaction for someone who had lived such a sheltered life. The young man hardly seemed to realize that food must first be prepared before being consumed. Years of dealing with professional chefs and room service had left him assuming that such sustenance simply appeared from thin air whenever one wished it.

For Alexia, the response was one of quiet admiration. Having not grown up in the ivory tower that her cousin called home, she was far worldlier in her views, and possessed at least a basic understanding of what life was like for those of a lower station than hers. She understood the challenges many people faced in putting food on their family's table, and could appreciate the effort it took to make such things happen day in and day out.

She could also recognize talent when she saw it.

And Ron's talent was certainly on full display as he tore into a package of what the label alleged was beef stroganoff. Starting off by following the package directions, he quickly began to improvise, tossing in various spices that he had packed and adding the whole mix to the now simmering sausage and herb concoction.

Never one to pass up an opportunity to be helpful, Alexia quickly retrieved something from her own pack and casually strolled over to where the blonde sidekick extraordinaire was practicing his craft.

"Here. Try adding these while you're at it." She suggested, tossing a small bundle down onto the flat stone that was serving as an impromptu chopping block.

"Uh, why? What are they?" Ron asked in confusion, warily eyeing the offered items.

"Wild radishes." Alexia answered. "I picked them along the trail today. They should add some zip to that stroganoff you're working on."

"Hey! Capital idea there!" Ron enthused, eagerly starting work on the fresh produce. "The spiciness will add a nice counter-point to the cream base of the sauce."

"I thought it might help." Alexia admitted. "Anything else I can do?"

"You can stir that, if it's not too much trouble." Ron suggested, motioning to the simmering pot next to the fire. "That cream burns real easy if you don't keep it moving."

"No problem at all." The duchess agreed, pulling a small serving spoon from Ron's camp cook kit and gently stirring the pot's contents. She spent several seconds observing his skills before pressing the conversation onward.

"You seem to be well practiced in the kitchen." She observed.

"I guess you can call it a gift." Ron shrugged. "I don't know hows I does it. I'z just does it."

"Another skill that you picked up from your partner, perhaps?"

"Who, Kim? Pfffft! As if!" Ron panned. "Nah, Kim's an amazing person with amazing talents, but cooking isn't really part of her skill set. I mean, sure, she spent a lot of time trying to prove otherwise, but after the 'burning water' incident, it was pretty much the end of the road."

"Burning water?" the duchess asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well in Kim's defense, her brothers were in the next room running some sort of hydrogen-oxygen-electro-experiment thingy. From then on it was pretty much a perfect scientific storm."

"I can certainly imagine."

"So what about you?"

"What about me?" Alexia confusedly asked.

"I mean, what's your backstory." Ron explained. "'Cause from what I've seen you handle pressure well, are involved in charity work, start cars without keys and can pick out edible plants in the dark. That's a pretty rare skill set for someone of your… your…"

"Elitist, upper-crust, snobbish social station?"

"Something like that." Ron groaned embarrassedly.

"Honestly, I don't blame you at all for thinking that." Alexia admitted with a sigh. "In this modern, democratic world the position of royalty carries with it a heavy burden. From the time they're introduced to fairy tales, people hear tales of kings and queens with absolute power, and the disastrous consequences that flow from that. The stereotype of a self-absorbed, uncaring monarch ruling over his subjects with an iron fist is something that everyone sees at some point. It's a powerful image."

"Yeah, but you're totally not like that. At least, not from what I can see."

"Thank you, Ronald." Alexia smiled sweetly. "It's an image that I've spent most of my life creating. You see, I want to be seen as the exception to that rule: An 'anti-royal' if you will. I want the people of my country to love and respect me not for some fairy-tale image of me, or out of fear of retribution, or a sense of political obligation, but for who I am and what I do. In other words, I want to earn their respect."

"Like wow!" Ron breathlessly said. "That's like, one of the coolest things I've ever heard. Are you sure you're related to Wally?"

Alexia laughed heartily at the question.

"Sometimes I do wonder if perhaps Uncle Wallace chose to adopt and didn't tell anyone." She giggled. "But yes, we are related. It's just that in this case our respective branches of the family tree grew in two distinctively different directions."

"I hear that." Ron smiled. "But I still think it's really cool the approach you take to all of this."

"Why thank you." She said sweetly, keeping her gaze firmly on the contents of the pot as she plotted her next inquiry. "So how did you first get into this business?"

"What? Cooking?" Ron asked. "Well I've always been a big fan of eating, so I guess cooking just sort of naturally flows from that."

"Oh, that's great. But I meant the 'saving the world' business."

"Oh, that." Ron realized. "Well it's not really what I'd call a business. I mean we don't make any money for doing what we do. It's more of an extreme hobby in a way."

"Oh-kaaaaaaay. And how did you first get into this 'hobby,' as you call it?"

"Ah, well. You see, I really didn't get into it, per se. Kim is the one who got this hit on her website and… You know, there's actually a funny story about that. It turns out it that it all started because of a typo when this guy…"

"Ah, maybe just the Cliff Notes version for now." Alexia interrupted. "The details you can fill me in on later."

"Oh right. Sorry." Ron apologized, scooping up the now diced vegetables and dropping them into the pot. "Now where was I?"

"Hit on the website."

"Oh yeah! So Kim gets this hit on the site about somebody needing help, and I wound up tagging along."

"So you just went with her into a dangerous situation that you knew nothing about?" Alexia asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. Pretty much." Ron concurred.

"Why on earth would you ever do something like that?"

"Duh. 'Cause she was my best friend." He stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She needed backup so I tagged along. Simple as that."

"Wow. She was very lucky to have someone like you."

"Meh. It's what best friends do."

"And now, after all these years…?"

"We're Team Possible: World saving adventurers!"

"Again… Wow."

"Like I said. It's what best friends do."

"Except you're slightly more then friends now."

"So much more than friends." Ron sighed, a dreamy, far-away look taking hold in his eyes. "When I think of all the things that brought us to where we are, I don't know. Part of me is disappointed that it took so long, and part of me is glad. It's like all that stuff makes what we've got all the sweeter, ya' know?"

The duchess nodded in agreement.

"Yes Ronald. I do get what you are saying."

"And that had better be all she gets from you!"

Both impromptu cooks turned to face the burning glare of a fiery redhead.

"Oh, hey KP." Ron greeted his girlfriend, completely oblivious to the ire burning in her emerald eyes. "The duchess here was just lending me a hand with some of the cooking duties. You know, she's actually pretty handy around a kitchen-type environment."

"Oh, I'll bet she is." Kim ominously growled before suppressing her anger with a unconvincingly sweet smile. "Your majesty, would you be so kind as to tell your family that dinner is nearly ready? I can take things from here."

Alexia looked apprehensively at Ron, wondering if she should leave the redhead in such close proximity to an active kitchen area.

"S'alright." Ron reassured her with a smile. "I'll keep an eye on things here."

Alexia nodded with a smile of her own and quickly retreated to where the rest of the royal family awaited, leaving the two teen heroes alone for the moment.

"Getting friendly with the objective, I see." Kim remarked as soon as Alexia was out of earshot.

"Huh? Oh, I guess you could say that." Ron nonchalantly shrugged. "She's actually a really super-nice person once you get to know her."

"Uh-huh." Kim nodded, thoroughly unconvinced.

"What? Why? Is there something wrong?" Ron asked, slowly picking up on his girlfriend's mood. "Oh, don't tell me my fly was open again!"

"No. And be glad it wasn't." Kim dryly observed, grabbing a plate from the cook set and handing it to Ron.

"So what's the problem then?" Ron asked, taking the plate and spooning out a helping of his latest culinary concoction.

"The problem is that I don't like it when clients start putting the moves on my guy." She huffed, taking the plate back from Ron and holding it out to a decidedly uncomfortable-looking young prince who had just emerged from the surrounding shadows. He took the plate and eyed its contents suspiciously, as if contemplating some manner of snide remark. Then, to both teens' surprise, he looked up to meet their gazes with a genuine look of contrition.

"Thank you." He simply said, and silently turned back toward the group's campsite.

"Wow. What got into him?" Kim pondered, staring blankly at Wally's retreating form.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say somebody kidnapped him and replaced him with a human being." Ron pondered aloud.

"Humph. I doubt it." Kim sneered. "Now as I was saying, I've got a real 'ish' with what's going on between you and miss royal home-wrecker over there."

"What's going on where?" Ron defensively whined, spreading his arms wide. "Kim there's nothing to be 'ished' about! She's friendly and a genuinely good person who likes using her social status to help people. You know, the two of you actually have a lot in common."

In the dim firelight, Ron saw the look that flashed across his girlfriends face. Instantly, he realized that he'd just said the wrong thing.

"Oh really?" Kim ominously growled. "So you think little miss perfect can replace me, do you?"

"No. Of course not." Ron emphatically stated, backing up a step out of pure reflex. "You know she could never hold a candle to you. Now c'mon. You're totally taking this the wrong way."

"I know you think I'm taking this the wrong way, Ron." Kim continued, not letting up with her tirade. "Honestly, I don't think your intentions are anything other than completely innocent."

"You see then! That's what I'm…"

"But that doesn't mean that her intentions are innocent too. I'm telling you Ron, she's making a play for you!"

"Whoa there, KP." Ron said, signaling for a time-out. You're not going all jeallin' on me again, are you?"

"Yes, okay? I admit it! I am so jeallin' right now." Kim confessed with an aggravated huff. "Forgive me for protecting my territory when it comes to the number one person in my life."

"Protecting your territory?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. Make fun if you want." Kim conceded. "It's just that you're totally the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I just can't take the chance of losing you to someone else. No matter how slim that chance might be. You're my whole world, Ronnie. I can't risk that."

By the time she finished, her tone had gone from one of a raging lioness to that of a frightened schoolgirl. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered lightly in the late-evening breeze. Looking down at the dusty ground, she searched for answers in the gently dancing shadows cast by the fire. She had opened her heart and laid her soul bare in the dirt. Now the ball was in Ron's court.

Ron's response came not in the form of words, but rather in the form of action. He swiftly scooped his lifelong friend into a tender embrace and held her close, allowing her breathing to slowly become more regular and rhythmic. It wasn't until he was sure she had calmed sufficiently that he dared speak.

"Hey. Let's face facts here." He said. "Fact number one: There's not a girl in the world that I'd rather be with than you; royalty, riches or otherwise. Fact number two: The only thing that could ever split us up is if you were to do something terrible; something that went so beyond heinous that it drove me away."

"But you know I'd never do anything like that to you, Ron." Kim protested, burying her face into his shoulder.

"Which brings me to fact number three." Ron continued. "I know that you'd never intentionally do anything even remotely like that. And as for unintentionally, I doubt there is anything you even could do that would rise to that level of gorchiness. So when you think about it, we're a hundred percent worry free, KP!"

Kim pulled herself even deeper into Ron's protective embrace, his sweet words ringing through her ears. As he was he could be random and incoherent from time to time, and his weirdness was nearly legendary. But beneath it all ran a grasp of reality that bordered on clairvoyance, and when that streak showed through, he was capable of the most wonderfully honest observations.

"Wow. When did you become the steady one in this relationship?" she murmured into his shoulder.

"Heh. I guess some of it was bound to rub off sooner or later." He chuckled.

"I love you." She sighed.

"Of course you do." Ron answered. "I've turned into you."

She playfully punched him in the side, eliciting an equally-playful "ooof."

"Well it's good to see the two of you getting along so smashingly." Alexia's voice rang out, surprising both teens.

"Oh… ahh… Hey there." Kim stammered. "We… uh… didn't hear you come up."

"Well I wouldn't hold it against you." Alexia conceded. "The two of you seemed to be preoccupied."

The faces of both heroes suddenly turned beet red.

"Dinner is ready, I take it?" the duchess prodded, holding out her plate for emphasis.

"Oh, right! Food… and stuff." Ron said, fumbling with his utensils and serving out a generous portion onto the offered plate.

"Thank you, Ronald." She smiled once again before turning to his redheaded companion.

"And thank you, Kim." She added with another smile. Kim's fists clenched slightly at her sides.

"Easy, Kimbo." Ron whispered, leaning in towards her silently fuming form.

"I'm sorry Ron, but I just…"

"Shhhh!"

"Did you just shush me?" Kim incredulously asked. "I can't believe you just mummph…"

Ron's hand clamping firmly over her mouth cut off any further protest on her part. Residual anger was quickly laid to rest by a silent finger placed over his lips and a deadly serious expression etched across his face. Slowly, he turned his head to scan the surrounding forest, brown eyes flashing a faint shade of blue as mystical powers probed the shadows, alert to the presence of danger that they could not identify. Even Alexia quickly grasped the seriousness of the situation and fell deathly quiet. For the longest moment, no one moved, time itself grinding to a halt in the twilight darkness.

Then, in a flash, Ron dove forward, driving both Kim and himself into the ground. At that exact instant, the trees echoed with the rapport of a rifle shot, and Kim felt the dull thud of something solid and fast passing close enough to disturb her hair. The two of them tumbled unceremoniously into the dirt with Alexia mimicking their maneuver just a few feet away.

"Sniper!" Kim instinctively screamed. She didn't need to be told what that dull thud had been, just as she didn't need a weatherman to tell her that it was currently raining outside. She knew that a bullet had just grazed her.

The cry of "sniper" brought swift action throughout the camp. Both Wally and his father immediately hit the deck, while Alexia crawled over to shove a handful of dirt atop the fire. Silence reigned throughout the woods as everyone quietly contemplated what had just happened.

"Do you think he's still out there?" Alexia finally whispered after several minutes of silence.

"I'd bet money on it." Kim admitted. "Oh, and Ron? Would you mind getting off of me?"

"Oh, sorry KP." Ron apologized, carefully rolling off of Kim. "Are you okay? Please, tell me you're okay?"

"I'm fine Ron. Just fine." She revealed, reaching up to gently touch her temple where the bullet had grazed her. When she brought her fingers down, a flash of moonlight revealed a faint trace of blood.

"Aw man." She groaned. "I hope this doesn't get infected."

"Bigger issues to worry about right now." Ron said, stating the obvious. "That dude is still out there. I can feel it."

"You can feel it?" Kim inquired.

"Yeah." Ron confirmed. "I know it sounds strange, but somehow I can sense his presence. And I can tell you he's not giving up."

"So what do you want to do?" Kim asked, somewhat surprising Ron by deferring to his judgment in such a serious sitch.

"Oh don't look at me like that." She added after noticing her boyfriend's quizzical expression. "You're the one with all the training in these situations."

Ron thought long and hard about the question for several moments. Then, he set his eyes squarely ahead and made a decision.

"I'm going after him." He flatly stated.

"Excuse me?" Kim gasped in disbelief. "Would you mind repeating that for me? I think I had something crazy in my ear."

"I said I'm going out there after him." Ron repeated. "We can't risk moving while he's out there watching us, and the only other solution is neutralizing the threat. Now unfortunately this is well beyond the range of our only weapon right now, so the only way of dealing is to close the distance and engage on equal terms."

"But whoever this guy is, he's got a rifle! And probably night vision to boot!" Kim protested.

"I didn't say the plan was without risk."

"Seriously Ron!"

"I am being serious, Kim." He insisted. "Deadly serious, in fact. There's a man out there with a gun that wants to kill us and I'm the guy who can stop him. I need to go out there and do that."

"But you don't even know where he is!"

"That way." Ron said, pointing toward an anonymous patch of forest. "I don't know exactly where yet, but as I get closer I should get a better fix."

"I still say its suicide."

"Maybe, maybe not." Ron sighed. "But it's the only option we've got right now, so I'm going for it."

Through the darkness she heard the distinctive click of the safety strap on Ron's holster being released, and the smooth scraping of plastic on leather as he withdrew the pistol from its place of storage. Silently, he edged toward a nearby tree and chanced a glance into the surrounding shadows.

"Everybody stay down now." He instructed. "I'll signal once I've taken care of this duncebag."

"Right."

"Wish me luck." He whispered before ducking into the trees, instantly being consumed by the shadows.

"Good luck, Ron." Kim timidly whispered back.

* * *

Exiting the campsite by staying low and initially heading away from the mysterious shooter's position, Ron hoped he had concealed his departure from prying enemy eyes. Silent as a church mouse on Sunday, he made his way through the trees, sweeping out a wide arc that he believed would bring him up on the flank of the enemy position. If he could just sneak up on this guy from either the back or side, then he might just have a chance at pulling this off.

For several yards he followed the line of a dry streambed, using the folds of the land to hide his movements. He was one with the environment, the jet-black material of his battle suit allowing him to blend seamlessly into the shadows, merging into the night itself. Forethought and conscious effort allowed him to suppress the bluish aura of the monkey powers, turning the glow back inside of himself, even though he did not understand how this was possible.

In reality, he knew very little about the mechanics of the powers, or how they were controlled and used for that matter. It was as if they came and went with a will of their own, and from what little Sensei had explained to him, such analogies were not far from the truth.

During his most recent visit to Yamonuchi, the wizened old master had described the powers not as a mere energy source, but as the distilled life force, or "chi," of the ancient monks who had created them. The powers were essentially a sentient being, capable of independent observation and free will, and for reasons known only to them they had chosen him as their host.

These powers resided within him, Sensei had explained, just as bacteria resided within his digestive tract. And just like the bacteria, the effect was one of benefit for their chosen host. The powers were able to observe the world, seeing through Ron's eyes and hearing through his ears. They kept constant vigil over the world around them, manifesting themselves only at such times as they saw fit, and in a manner of their own choosing. He was essentially sharing his body with another, and that relationship made him all the stronger as a result.

Climbing out of the stream channel, Ron kept low as he turned his angle of approach even further. He could definitely sense his enemy now, the powers pointing the way like a compass. He was close. Perhaps no more than twenty yards away. His hand tightened around the grip of his weapon as he stalked ever closer to his quarry. It was go time.

* * *

A subdued growl of frustration passed pursed lips as the shadowy figure adjusted the sunglasses atop his nose and peered into the darkness. There had been no visible activity within the campsite since his first shot, and the waiting was beginning to grate at him. He silently cursed that young stripling of a boy who had tripped and spoiled his shot at the last possible moment. If not for his confounded streak of good luck, that cheerleader's pretty little head would be scattered across half the forest right now.

And Lord knew he'd like nothing better just then than to pop her skull like a red-haired pimple: Pop both those teens' heads for that matter. After what those two had done to Karl and Heinrich back in the palace dining hall, they deserved nothing less. Nobody messed with the Knights of Rhodighan and lived to boast about it. Nobody!

He adjusted his glasses again as he peered down the scope of the Dragunov sniper rifle he held propped up on a fallen tree limb. Ordinarily, sunglasses in a darkened forest would seem an odd fashion choice, but these were no ordinary spectacles. Far from being the innocuous shades that they appeared to be, these glasses contained a highly advanced communication system, as well as sensitive night vision technology. Shadows melted away and the darkened forest appeared bright as day to him, every leaf and every branch showing through in clear, green-tinted detail.

Sweeping his weapon from side to side, he scanned the camp, searching for even the slightest hint of movement. He didn't blame the miscreants for lying low. Lord knew he would do the same in their position. But the fact remained that they couldn't lay down in the dirt forever. Sooner or later, they would have to make a move. And when they did, he would be waiting for them. Ready with a full clip and a whole can of whoop-ass.

He focused his search once again on the dying embers of the recently extinguished campfire, hoping to gleam some clue as to his target's actions from the faint shadows it cast. He stared into the fading light, his concentration complete, until the unexpected snap of a nearby twig rang out in his ears like a gunshot. Instantly, his head snapped around to face the source of the disturbance, and he suddenly found himself face to face with a blonde headed figure, the dark outline of a pistol cupped in both hands and pointed toward the ground in a classic "safety position." Their eyes locked, and they both instantly knew the reality of the situation…

The jig was up.

* * *

Moving stealthily through the trees, Ron slowed his progress to a virtual crawl. Being so close to his objective meant that mistakes would be amplified in their consequences. The slightest misstep here would mean disaster: Both for himself and the rest of his team. There was no margin for error.

Slipping through the gap between two large oaks, he peered into the shadows and quickly spotted the thing he had been searching for. There, lying prone on the ground behind a fallen limb was a man in a dark suit. Even in the dark the pleats and seams of his clothes were apparent to Ron's mystically-enhanced senses, and he recognized the tailoring instantly. This goon was from the same lot who had ambushed them in the palace ballroom during their escape the day before, and apparently these guys were now prepared to seriously up the ante.

Switching to a two-handed grip, Ron held the Glock low and in front of him as he gradually crept up onto his unaware enemy. If he could just get close enough, he figured, then perhaps there would be no need for deadly force. If he could just find a way to subdue this man somehow, then such overwhelming violence could be avoided.

Onward he crept, closing to within ten feet of the still oblivious shooter. He was just reading himself to pounce when the unmistakable sound of a twig breaking underfoot rang out through the trees.

_"Ohhhhhhh snap!"_

The sniper's head whipped around and the two men locked gazes. Brown eyes stared straight ahead into the reflective surface of dark glasses, and the eyes behind them returned the favor. In the span of an instant, a great unspoken truth was passed between the two combatants…

One of them had seen their last sunrise.

* * *

The crack of the shot reverberated through the trees, disturbing a nearby flock of birds from their night time perch and drawing the attention of every person back at the campsite. The sound seemed to go on forever, echoing through the forest and bouncing off the nearby hills before finally fading into the night. What followed next could only be described as a "deathly silence." It put all members of the group on edge, none more so than the red headed heroine among them who closed her eyes, grasped at her chest and whispered a desperate, one-word plea.

_"Ron!"_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

So how's that for a cliffie, huh? Ain't I just terrible with this stuff? (Insert evil laugh here.)

_SVD-137 Dragunov:_ A gas-activated semi automatic sniper rifle developed by the Soviet Union in the early 1960s. Fed from a curved, ten-round magazine, the Dragunov features a chrome-lined barrel for easy maintenance, a flash suppressor, a lightweight frame-type stalk and both telescopic and traditional "iron" sites.

First deployed in 1963, the SVD-137 was created by Russian firearms designer Evgeny Dragunov. The winner of a three-way competition, the SVD-137 proved superior to other designs in a wide variety of operational and weather conditions. After an initial pre-production batch of 200 weapons, the Izhevsk Mechanical Works started serial production in 1964.

Today, the SVD-137 is deployed by the militaries of several former Warsaw-Pact nations, and is produced under license in both China and Iran.

And sooooooooo…

Things just keep going from bad to worse for our heroes, don't they? After a botched escape attempt and a plane crash, their communications have been compromised and they've stumbled into a sniper's crosshairs. Now, with the team pinned down and unable to maneuver, Ron has decided to put it all on the line take this bull by the horns, so to speak.

But what happened in that darkened wood? Whose shot was heard amongst the trees? And who among them won't ever be going home again? All good questions to be sure, and all to be answered in our next installment. Stay tuned, and stay frosty folks. This ride is just picking up speed!

Good luck… We're all counting on you!

_Nutzkie…_


	9. One Shot, One Kill

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Nine ~**

If there was ever any such thing as a deafening silence, then this was it.

Throughout the forest, not a sound was to be heard. No wind… No wildlife… Even the crickets had conspicuously ceased with their ever-present song. It was as if all sound had been banished from the world and an utterly silent void was all that remained.

Second by agonizing second the silence dragged on, offering no clue as to the nature of events that had just unfolded. Since the crack of the shot they had heard nothing… seen nothing… and as the seconds slowly turned into minutes the sense of anticipation only grew. Paralyzed by anxiety and fear, no one dared move or speak, lest the gods that controlled the silence be somehow offended.

Suffering the silence was difficult for all involved, but for Kim it was nearly unbearable. For coupled with questions of whether they were to survive the night was the question of what had happened to Ron. They had all heard the shot, but without further information there was no way of knowing who had fired it: No way of knowing which one of the combatants had been victorious, and which one now lay dead on the forest floor.

With nothing to keep her mind occupied and the darkness as fertile ground for her imagination to wander, she soon found herself playing witness to a strange parade of images. Memories of all the times that she and Ron had spent together came flooding back in vivid detail. Christmases and Hanukahs, birthdays and holidays, proms and play dates; all were placed on full review as she waited in excruciating uncertainty. She recalled their first real kiss at the Junior Prom, Ron's victory during the Lowardian invasion, and the night they had shared prior to their deployment two days ago.

That memory was perhaps more vivid than all the others together, not only because it was the most recent, but because it represented a special sort of threshold for them. For in the privacy of that bunk they had become closer and been more intimate with one another than she could recall them having ever been before. Thinking back, she found herself wishing that they had made love that night, as at that very moment his shattered, lifeless body could be sprawled out across…

No! She couldn't let herself think like that! If for nothing else than the sake of her own sanity, she needed to think positive. She had to keep her wits about herself and not go off jumping to conclusions. The rest of the group was counting on her to hold it together… At least for now.

And still the seconds dragged on, each tick of the clock excruciating in its duration. With each an every moment a small part of her was dying, the relentless yet sloth-like pace of time slowly wearing her down, eroding her soul until she feared there would be nothing left of her. It wasn't even clear to her anymore what was worse: The uncertainty or the waiting itself. If she just had some sort of indication…

A rustle in the bushes drew everyone's attention to one side of the clearing. It was a faint noise to be sure, but not so faint as to go unnoticed. Was it a small animal of some sort? A rogue squirrel, perhaps? Or was it death itself having now come for them? In the darkness of the woodland night nothing seemed certain.

A second rustle now captivated the group, this one louder and much closer. It was clear now that it was no animal now approaching the campsite. This creature was large and walked upright. The only question was whether the figure represented friend or foe.

The answer came when the walking shadow stepped out from the tree line and the moon briefly illuminated an unruly mop of blond hair. Kim's heart nearly leapt out of her chest at the sight, a virtual tidal wave of relief washing over her. Ron was okay. He had made it back in one piece.

Without thinking she instantly bolted up and ran to him, seeking reassurance that he was indeed well and in good condition. As she closed the distance she silently recited several prayers in both English and Hebrew, thanking any deity that would hear her for her love's safe return.

"Oh thank goodness Ron! You really had me worried there for a sec." She breathed, trying hard to conceal her true level of anxiety. "Are you all right? Please, tell me you're all right."

You could have knocked her over with a feather when Ron's only response to her concern was no response at all. As silent as the night, he slipped past her, his brown eyes never focusing on anything other than the air in front of him.

To say that this behavior left Kim perplexed would be like calling Mount Everest "that quaint little hill." For Ron to simply ignore her like that would be unusual under any circumstances. But given the current sitch and the obvious worry that she was experiencing… This went so beyond out-of-character.

And were her eyes playing tricks on her, or had he suddenly sprouted more freckles.

Wordlessly, she watched as Ron walked over to a fallen log and sat down. For several seconds he silently contemplated the Glock that he still held. Then, he deliberately returned the weapon to its holster and buried his face in his gloved hands with a forlorn sigh.

And Kim wasn't the only spectator to the surreal display.

From the shadows to one side of the campsite, the Royal family looked on in equal parts concern and confusion. Granted, the return of the other half of their rescue team certainly boded well for their predicament, but such subdued behavior from the normally boisterous and extroverted young man was a massive red flag. All was not well in sidekick town: That much was certain.

In a momentary act of decisiveness, Alexia started toward the blond-haired, crestfallen form. She only managed three steps, however, when she caught sight of two fiery emerald eyes boring into her through the darkness. The image stopped her dead in her tracks and she immediately understood: This was a matter not of her concern. The responsibility of tending to Ron's wounds, be they physical or emotional, was Kim's and Kim's alone.

In deference to the redhead's wishes, Alexia nodded in consent and quietly returned to her place with the others. Meanwhile, Kim returned her attention to her clearly distraught boyfriend, who had not moved from his chosen spot on the log. He seemed like a statue, frozen in time and place, thoroughly devoid of the life that otherwise so easily flowed through him.

For Kim it was all just too much. The weirdness meter was by now jumping off the scale for her, and she resolved then and there to get to the bottom of it all.

Quietly sliding up beside him, she took a seat next to his statue-like form and simply observed him for several seconds. The haggard breathing… the slumped shoulders… the anxious-yet-empty look in his eyes… All these things pointed to some sort of great inner turmoil the nature of which she did not yet understand. And then there was the issue of his face, which she could see far more clearly now, and could identify the nature of his newfound "extra freckles."

"Hold still a sec, Ron." She said softly, reaching over to wipe his cheek with her sleeve. "You've got mud splatter on your face."

"That's not mud." He said reflexively, his voice surprisingly empty and devoid of feeling.

"It's not?" Kim inquired, stopping her ministrations in mid-wipe. "If it's not mud, then…"

"Blood." He flatly informed.

"Ohmigosh!" Kim gasped in astonishment, quickly switching from the role of comforting friend to triage nurse. "Where are you hurt, baby? Lemme see!" She began to frantically inspect every inch of him that she could.

"Not mine." He clarified, still showing no discernable response to the situation.

"What? Well if it's not your blood, then where'd it come… Oh, ohhhhhhhh…" she gasped, realization suddenly striking her like a runaway truck. And just as quickly as it had before, her mood changed once again, morphing back into a concerned and supportive best friend.

For several more seconds she continued to silently observe. Ron's unmoving form remained locked in place with a thousand-yard stare that never left his face. On an emotional scale he appeared to be floating somewhere between despair and total numbness. He was adrift upon a sea of torment and her heart went out to him, until at last she felt compelled to speak.

"Sooooooo, you wanna talk about it?" she softly asked, uncertainty and trepidation filling her voice. Honestly, she had no idea how to approach this sitch. With so much of her life being built on focus and keeping a level head under pressure, she had never acquired the skills for dealing with emotional situations such as this. If she had only taken the psych elective back in high school then maybe she would have had some clue, but noooooo! She just had to sign up for that stupid college-prep trig class! Fat lot of good that was doing her now!

"Maybe I can solve this by finding his cosine or something." She silently chastised herself. "Way to go, Possible!"

"He saw me." Ron said, breaking Kim out of her momentary bout with self-blame. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he spoke, and the softness of his tone only heightened her sense of worry.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, wondering if she had even heard him right.

"I snuck up on him and he saw me." Ron repeated. "We looked each other dead in the eyes. I swear we were so close we could smell each other." He finished with a sigh, burying his face into his hands once more.

"And then?" Kim prodded. Although she realized she was treading into uncharted territory with this, instinct told her that the best thing right now was for Ron to unburden himself. That way, with everything out in the open, they could begin the process of dealing with the sitch. It was like lancing and irrigating a wound: A painful process to be sure, but a necessary one for healing to begin.

"And then he went for his gun and I went for mine." He choked out through barely-restrained tears. "I was just a little faster is all."

This last admission was punctuated with a muffled sob as Ron buried his face into the material of his mission gloves. Being both the silent strength of the team and a typical guy, Kim knew he would never allow anyone, especially those who were depending on them, to see him cry. His was a pain to be forever suffered in silent anonymity, hidden away from those who might mistakenly judge him weak for having the audacity to outwardly display such emotions.

"And I got him." He heaved. "Popped him right in the shades, too. One round… shattered the right lens and… and…"

"Shhhhhh… shhhh… It's all right sweetie." Kim comforted, reaching out to place her arms around him and pull him close. "It's not your fault. None of it is. You didn't have any choice. You only did what you had to do."

"Tell that to him." Ron whimpered into her shoulder. "I'd tell you to say it to his face, but he doesn't have much of one left right now."

"I know… I know. It's tough." Kim whispered into her trembling partner's ear. She needed to find a way to stabilize his fragile state and get him focused on the issues at hand. The mission and their own future depended on that. "Honestly, I can even imagine what you just went through out there. But that's all something that can be dealt with later. Right now I need your mind back in the here and now, alright. I need you on your game if we're gonna pull through this. I can't do it all alone. I need your help." She gave the final word extra emphasis to drive the point home.

For all outward appearances, her words seemed to have the desired effect. Almost instantly Ron's breathing became deeper and more regular and his gaze suddenly hardened. The simple knowledge that his girlfriend needed him to stand strong was ample motivation for him suck it up and push onward. There would be plenty of time later for reflection and healing: Right now, he had a job to do.

"Roger that, KP." He said, gently wiping his nose with his sleeve as he stood up. "How can the Ron-man be of service?"

"Well for starters, I'm still starving and there's an untended pot over there by what used to be a fire."

"Oh, right… right. The fixin' the dinner thing." Ron observed as he rolled up his sleeves. "Now that the rude interruption's been dealt with, where was I?"

As Ron got up and returned to his makeshift kitchen, Kim couldn't help but reflect. Deep down inside, she knew this was only a temporary reprieve. With as sensitive and gentle a person as Ron was, something like this was bound to have a deep and lasting effect on his psyche. No, this wasn't simply a one-time thing: This was something that they would both be dealing with for months and perhaps years to come.

Inwardly she sighed, and tried to imagine just how she could even begin to support him in such a way. She wondered about how much more they would be forced to endure before this waking nightmare would finally be over, and she hoped the overall battle was fairing somewhat better than it was for them.

* * *

Meanwhile, 4,300 miles away, the scene was a very different one. Protectively tucked away beneath the smoky rolling hills of Appalachia, a vast subterranean labyrinth bustled with activity. Like a human beehive it's tunnels and chambers spread out across more than six square miles of idyllic West Virginian countryside, the wooded rolling landscape of clear streams, sugar maples and northern cardinals giving no clue as to the engineering marvel that lay beneath.

And this was the way Global Justice wanted it. For it was from this secluded and secretive location that they could conduct their operations with impunity. Far removed from the interference of local authorities and the more proactive members of the criminal community, their officers and technicians could monitor the state of the world. Equipped with a network of satellites and the most advanced surveillance technology yet developed, they could track global events, dispatch agents to deal with problems and respond to crises whenever and wherever they might erupt.

And it was crisis monitoring that was now the order of the day. The corridors of this human ant farm hummed with activity, uniformed officers and white-coated technicians jockeying for space with clerks and couriers, all of them scurrying about between responsibilities with the urgency of a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest.

And amidst this cacophony of choreographed chaos stood Betty Director, her single steely eye observing the torrent of activity around her like a field general surveying her troops. From her position atop a raised dais in the center of the main control room she silently and unflinching observed the activities around her. Technicians and analysts sat busily at computer terminals pouring over reams of incoming data while a virtual forest of overhead monitors displayed a continual stream of updates from the field. This was the operational nerve center: The Fuhrer Bunker: The point from which an entire military campaign and the fates of thousands would be managed and brought to completion, one way or another.

Taking a long sip of black coffee, she thoughtfully browsed through the multiple data streams that were bombarding her senses, vying for her attention. Field reports concerning combat actions and enemy positions flowed in to be intermixed with intelligence estimates and casualty figures. Her lone good eye darted back and forth, taking it all in and committing key elements to memory. She was a maestro, and this was her orchestra. The symphony was in full swing.

"Excuse me, ma'am. But something has come up requiring your attention."

"Very well then. Proceed, agent Du." Betty instructed, turning to face the young agent.

"Ma'am, forces of the amphibious landing have met heavy resistance in this area here." He informed, pressing a few key buttons on a nearby control stand and bringing up a digital map on one of the overheads. "Elements of the second infantry battalion have succeeded in taking this ridge here, but they're pinned down by heavy fire from the next ridge to the west." He explained, identifying the key areas with a laser pointer he pulled from a pocket of his uniform.

"What sort of fire?" Betty asked matter-of-factly.

"Units of self propelled artillery and heavy mortars seem to be providing the bulk of the problem." Du eagerly explained. "Reconnaissance shows them to be dug in along this line here, just behind the ridge where our forces on the ground can't get a visual. Also, these assets appear to be protected by multiple SAM batteries and at least two, perhaps three infantry platoons."

"Any other assets in place?"

"Nothing that we know of for certain," Will admitted, briefly shuffling through the short stack of papers he held clutched in his hands. "But after the field reports we received from the amateurs, we know the enemy to be in possession of Stinger missile systems. We should anticipate that at least a few of these units to be deployed within the area, be they equipped with Stingers or some other form of man-portable air defense system."

"Understood." Betty said, her unflinching gaze never deviating from the monitor above her. "So that leaves us with the question of how to pull this thorn out of our paw."

"If I might be so bold," Du spoke up, "I would suggest a tactical air strike."

"Agent Du, you read my mind." Betty admitted, allowing herself the rare luxury of a brief smile. "Admiral! Would you come over here for a moment please?"

Slowly, a overweight man with white hair and an unsteady gate excused himself from the group he had been speaking with and ascended the stairs to the central platform. He moved with a silent struggle that bespoke his many years, but his posture carried the dignified aura of a man who enjoyed both authority and the respect of his peers. The many medals that hung from his uniform swayed and sparkled under the harsh fluorescent lights, glinting like the ornaments of a Christmas tree on Hollywood Boulevard.

For Admiral Cleveland Gull, this was something of a homecoming. As a man who had spent nearly his entire adult life away from home fighting one conflict or another, the current atmosphere of tension and adrenaline was like a wispy tune of yesteryear, taking him back and reminding him of a thousand battles on a thousand battlefields. Memories of friends and accomplishments swirled around him like friendly ghosts, bringing with them bags filled with items locked deep within his past.

He had been just sixteen when he had lied about his age and enlisted. By that time the Second World War had been over for nearly five years, but the prospect of peace hadn't dampened his enthusiasm for the military life. Undaunted by circumstance, he ran away from home and enlisted with the then fledgling United States Air Force, entering flight school and quickly progressing from propeller-driven trainers to the sleek new F-86 Saberjet.

And while his training progressed, geopolitical events began to turn in his favor. In June of 1950 the armies of North Korea flooded across the 38th parallel, sparking the first armed conflict of the Cold War era. Within weeks the United States was spearheading a United Nations effort to restore peace to the Korean Peninsula, and within months he was in the thick of it all, flying combat air patrols over the north with the Fourth Fighter-Interceptor Wing out of Kimpo Air Base.

And it was on his 18th birthday, the very day he officially became eligible for military service, that he found himself on patrol over the mouth of the Yalu River in an area colorfully known as "MiG Alley." Without warning his squadron was jumped by a formation of MiG-15s that seemed to come out of nowhere, taking everyone by surprise. What ensued was probably the most intense four minutes of his life to date, but when the dust had settled he had recorded his first confirmed kill. Even to this day he considered it the best birthday gift he had ever received.

It was the first of eight kills he would ultimately record in the Saber, making him one of the highest scoring aces of the early jet age. From there his career would progress through Vietnam and to the end of the Cold War, where as a brigadier general he had a front row seat to the collapse of what President Regan had deemed the "Evil Empire."

He had fully anticipated this period to be followed by a relaxing retirement, spent on a sailboat drifting leisurely into a golden sunset. But the pull of duty and the excitement of the unknown proved too much for his sense of adventure, and within three years he was officially "un-retired," serving as Global Justice's Fleet Admiral: The commanding officer of the entire Thunder Eagles organization.

And now, fast approaching his 80th birthday and at an age where many of his peers were already dead and in the ground, he stood at the helm of a military apparatus 20,000 men strong. Answerable only to Doctor Director herself he was one of the most powerful and well-respected members of the global law enforcement community, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying every minute of it.

With an air of dignity that bespoke his many years of service, Admiral Gull mounted the final few steps to the dais and stood beside Betty and Will.

"You call, Doctor Director, ma'am?" he respectfully asked.

"Yes Admiral. We need your expert opinion on something." Betty informed, gesturing toward the overhead screen. "Our advance through sector green dog one has hit a bit of a speed bump and we need it dislodged. Think your fly boys can take care of it?"

The admiral stepped forward and carefully studied the screen, placing a finger thoughtfully on his chin.

"They've sure got themselves burrowed in thar tighter than a springtime tick, don't they?" he observed, his native Arkansas drawl showing through loud and clear.

"That's one way to put it, I suppose." Betty smiled. If nothing else, the Admiral had a colorful way of speaking.

"Hmmmm…" the Admiral pondered, closely inspecting every detail of the map. "Mah first concern is with these here SAMs. If we just go flitin' in thar willy-nilly then those suckers are gonna flame out butts."

"Agreed, Admiral. What do you propose?"

"We go wild weasel on 'em all." Admiral Gull replied. "Send the Phantasms in as a first wave and have at 'em with HARMs. That oughta' shake 'em up real good."

Doctor Director nodded in agreement with the Admiral's jargon-laced statement. As she understood things, modern missile systems were almost completely reliant upon radar to find their targets. These radar stations are like flashlights in a dark room: Turn them on and you can find what you're looking for.

And just like the flashlight, once it's turned on, it gives away its position.

Which makes destroying it relatively easy, provided you have the proper tools for the job.

"Okay, that takes care of the air defenses." Betty thoughtfully observed. "Now what about the arty?"

"We'll pepper that whole ridge with CBU-59 cluster munitions." The Admiral enthusiastically stated. "Jus' start pouring on the steel and let 'em taste the hellfire. That'll put the fear of God into 'em."

"Excellent." Betty concurred, nodding her head in agreement. "And as for the method of delivery."

"Well the Yellowjackets are rested and ready, but so's vee eff five." He pondered aloud. "Either one of them can deliver the goods."

"The Blue-Nosed Bastards? Interesting choices." Betty pondered as well. "So which do you prefer?"

"Ah think I'm a gonna have to give this one to the blue boys." Admiral Gull finally admitted. "A Hornet is a helluva lot faster than a Corsair, and if this thing goes south I want mah boys to be buggin' outta there in a damned hurry."

"Understood, Admiral. Make it so." Betty instructed. The Admiral smartly saluted and turned away to carry out his orders.

"Anything else, Will?" Betty asked as the Admiral's hefty form melted into the organized chaos around them.

"Well there is still the issue of status regarding the amateurs." His inflection made no attempt to hide his disdain for the people in question.

"Easy, Will." Betty sighed. "We're already aware of your feelings regarding Team Possible."

"Well I'm only concerned about the potentially rash decision to go to radio silence." Will groused. "I must admit I find Miss Possible's actions in this case to be overly-reactionary and potentially harmful to the mission in that they cut us off from a potential source of intelligence."

"Seriously Will, don't get your jumpsuit in a jam." Betty sighed again, this time a little more forcefully. "Kimberly made the smart decision under the circumstances. Communications had become a liability, so she did what was necessary to protect the mission."

"Well it still grinds my beans." Will huffed. "I strongly dislike being cut out of the loop."

"You're not the only one Will. But the situation is what it is and griping won't change anything."

"So what do you suppose the am… I mean… Team Possible is doing right now?"

"You're learning." Betty smiled slyly before turning her attention back to the multitude of monitors above them. "First off, we've got to figure that if these guys are smart enough to hack through Mister Lode's firewalls then they're smart enough to read a plot map. And more importantly, Kimberly is smart enough to realize this herself."

"So she would know that her planned escape route is now compromised." Will surmised under his breath.

"Very good." Betty congratulated her young protégé. "Now for the bonus question. Knowing what you do about the current circumstances and about Kimberly's methods, what do you suppose her next move will be?"

Will carefully studied the map for several seconds, at one point bringing up a detailed enlargement of the island's western region. He stood in silent contemplation for over a minute before speaking.

"Well the obvious response would be to divert toward wherever the nearest safe haven would be." He postulated.

"Very good. Go on." Betty encouraged.

"But with the coast now being out of the question, that only leaves three compass points to work with, and all of those are controlled by the enemy."

"True… true…" Betty prodded. Her apprentice was certainly a fast learner once he finally pulled his head out of his backside. "So what's the wild card in all of this?"

Will pondered another few seconds before answering.

"The landing zones!" He finally announced. "She'll be heading north toward the drop zones. It may only be a toss-up as to who finds them first, but half a chance is better than none."

"Dingdingdingdingding! And we have a winner!" Betty cried out. "Somebody, get this young man a cigar!"

"I beg your pardon, ma'am. But as you're already aware, I do not smoke."

Betty sighed as her jubilant mood suddenly dropped six feet. Yes, her uptight protégé was a quick study without his head up his ass. Now if he could only do something about that stick as well.

* * *

Julie Andrews once remarked that the hills are alive with the sound of music…

Unfortunately it's what's underneath those hills that you need to watch out for.

Embedded deep within a ridge on the island's western slope, concealed beneath one of the capital city's more upscale suburbs, the Rhodighan Central Command Center was running in high gear. Built by the tiny principality as both a base of operations and a safe house for the royal family in times of crisis, the lightning-quick takeover by the Rhodighan Knights meant that it was never used for such a purpose. Instead, the facility now served as the operational base for the knights themselves, having been commandeered in the days immediately following the invasion.

And so rooms once intended for facilitating the defense of this island nation now served as the vehicle of its occupation: It's intricate systems supplying information about the ongoing battle to the very forces who sought to overthrow it's creators. Of all the ironies of war, this was perhaps the greatest.

But ironic twists of fate were the last thing on the mind of a young courier as he raced through the twisting hallways of this underground installation. With breakneck speed he made his way through the maze, turning left, then right, then ascending a flight of stairs before turning left again. Down a long corridor he raced, dodging equipment and personnel before finally reaching his destination.

Ducking through a set of pneumatic doors the cramped interior of the bunker opened into a relatively expansive control room. Dimly lit, its perimeter was lined with the requisite computer servers and access terminals upon which a modern military command and control system was based. It was the information age, as everyone well knew. Victory wasn't determined so much by how you fought, as by what you knew.

Running over to one of the nearby terminals he stood before a uniformed man and saluted, offering him the paper that was clasped tightly in his hand. For his part the man in uniform wordlessly looked at the paper and grimaced thoughtfully, carefully deciding just what its contents meant.

For General Archibald Nathaniel Emmy this was a new experience, but one with which he felt intimately familiar. As supreme commander of military operations for the Knights of Rhodighan, he had quite literally been born and bred for this task. A blood descendent of one of the original conspirators, he had inherited the centuries-old grudge from his father, as he had from his father, and so on and so on back through the years.

And now, after an entire lifetime of training and indoctrination he stood ready… Ready to step forth and fulfill the destiny that had been laid out for him by his ancestors more than two centuries ago. With talent, skill and fate on his side he would erase the stain of royal oppression from the fabric of Rhodighan's rich history, once and for all.

But first there was the small matter of an internationally backed counter insurgency to be dealt with. He grunted slightly at the thought, still pondering the paper he held.

"Are these the most current reports?" he asked the young courier.

"Yes sir." The young man, no older then 19, professionally replied. "Those came in off the wire just as I was running over here."

"Hmmm. So it seems we've managed to stymie the invaders in sector tango three." He muttered to no one in particular. "If we can hold that ridge, then we should put a serious kink in their overall advance."

"Shall we commit reinforcements, sir?" the eager young man asked, anxious to deliver such an obviously important order.

"No. Not just yet." Archibald surprisingly declined.

"But… but sir! The enemy…" the young enlisted man stammered.

"…Is a lot more clever than most people give them credit for." Archibald completed. "When you play chess you never attack with only one piece. And when you go to war, you don't fight on only one front."

"I'm afraid I don't follow sir."

"This is just their opening move." General Emmy pointed out, gesturing to a plotting map that lay spread across a nearby table. He pointed to the eastern coastal regions where a series of lines and shaded areas showed the current status of battle. "It's the equivalent of moving the king's pawn up two: A standard opening for a larger strategy."

"So if this is just their opening gambit," the young soldier inquired, "then what's their next move?"

"I suspect it will be somewhere in the west." Archibald theorized. "So far everything they've done has been designed to keep us moving east, which means the logical follow-up move would be to attack our blind side."

"I see, sir. But that begs the question of exactly where the enemy will hit us?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be standing here right now." The general lamented. "There's a lot of open ground out there, and even more coastline. It could be an airborne assault or another amphibious landing. In any case we don't have the strength to adequately defend every inch of ground."

"So what do we do then?" the corporal asked nervously.

"We position our forces at key strategic points and wait." The general replied, pointing to several marked spots on the map. "From these staging areas we can deploy rapid response forces to meet whatever threat the enemy presents. It won't keep them from getting boots on the ground, but it will make it difficult for them to stand in one place for long."

"And our forces in the east?"

"We'll send a few units eastward to plug some of the gaps in our line, but the bulk of our reserves are going to stay right where they are. My gut tells me we'll be needing them soon enough."

"Genius, sir. Pure genius." The corporal enthused.

"Thank you." The general replied. "Was there anything else for you to report?"

"Affirmative, sir. There's one more thing." The young corporal said, clearing his throat. "Supply department just completed an inventory of our ration stores, and I'm sorry to report that we're out of coffee."

"Sweet mercy no!" the general gasped. "Please, tell me you're joking."

"I'm afraid it's no joke sir." The young man morosely replied. "According to the commissary, all we have available is half a case of Frappuccinos and a palate of Yoo-Hoo."

"What kind of Frappuccino?"

"Non-fat decaf."

"Mother of God!"

"War is hell, sir."

"Very well then." The general sighed after several tense seconds. "We'll find a way to improvise, somehow. Would you be so kind as to pass along a message on your way back, please? It's for General Fontenaux"

"The commander of the search forces? Certainly sir." The corporal responded. "What should I say?"

"Tell him to start casting a wider net." The general instructed, his tone suddenly growing dark and ominous. "The fact that we haven't found those bourgeoisie bubbleheads yet tells me that they must have redirected. With the blanket of containment we put down it's the only way they could have given us the slip."

"Understood sir. Is there a particular area the general should re-deploy to?"

"Specifically, no. But tell them to send at least one extra search team to the north." Octavious instructed his underling. "We've recently lost contact with one of our snipers in this area. He was supposed to report in more than two hours ago, but so far we haven't been able to raise him."

Inwardly, the general grimaced at the thought. In a way he wasn't surprised that his sniper had met with such complications. Those over-trained, overpaid, dark-suited dimwits that upper management had insisted on bringing into the fold weren't suited for military operations. While there was no doubting their skill in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat in all its various forms, it was clear that their specialty was in surveillance and enforcement: A force somewhat akin to the American Secret Service or Russia's vaunted "Alpha Team."

If he had his way, those muscle-bound morons wouldn't be allowed within ten miles of his operation, but fate and circumstance had dictated otherwise. For in all the contingency planning that had gone into "Operation Payback," not once had anyone imagined the scale of the international response to be as overwhelming as it had ultimately been. They had expected perhaps a stern diplomatic tongue-lashing and a revocation of their cafeteria privileges at the U.N. At most there might have been sanctions. But an all-out counter-invasion by a thoroughly modern and well-trained military force? Never in a million years would anyone have dared even suggest such a thing.

And as a result of this major miscalculation, what they had assumed to be a more than adequate force was now being stretched to the breaking point. Undermanned and under equipped, and now facing the very real threat of defending themselves on multiple fronts, their carefully laid plans were beginning to unravel. Pressed for resources of all kinds, their ranks had been culled for anyone and everyone who could carry a rifle or man a gun. Cooks were being hastily trained as radiomen… Clerks were manning artillery batteries… And those sunglass-wearing simpletons were being stuffed into whatever positions their overdeveloped pectorals would fit into. It was a hell of a way to run a railroad.

"And you think one may be connected to the other?" the corporal asked, bringing the general back from his momentary mental stroll.

"I'm sorry?"

"The royals and the missing sniper. You think there's a connection?"

"I don't know." The general sighed. "But right now it's the best thing we have to go on, and we need to tie those loose ends up. Those elitist parasites are the only leverage we have in this whole monumental mess. As long as they're on the loose and running free, then this is anyone's game."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

What can I say? After four whole chapters of nearly non-stop action, I figured you guys needed a breather. So here's a little bit of insight into the inner-machinations of both sides, and a bit of a bird's-eye-view of the battle in action.

But in any case, the sniper is neutralized and the team is safe… for now at least. So the question now becomes "how long will the reprieve last?" Unfortunately, that information is classified at this time, so you'll just have to find out along with everyone else. No peeksies!

_SAM:_ An acronym for "Surface-to-Air Missile," this term is used to describe any guided, self-propelled weapon designed to be deployed from a ground-based platform against an aerial target.

H_ARM:_ (High-speed Anti-Radiation Missile) The AGM-88 HARM is an air-launched 780-pound weapon designed to seek out and destroy air defense radar installations by locking onto the source of the radar beacon, effectively blinding the enemy's defensive network. With a highly accurate proportional guidance system and a top speed of more than Mach two, the AGM-88 is virtually impossible to defend against once it has been launched.

First developed and built by Texas Instruments in 1983, the HARM today is a product of Raytheon Corporation: The world's fifth-largest defense contractor.

_Squadron Designations: _Now a lot of this material is pulled directly from my companion story "Summertime Blues," so if some of this seems familiar, that's probably why. If it all seems new, then pay attention and you just might learn something…

Now Admiral Gull throws a lot of strange terms at us in this chapter, but like a game of baseball it's all pretty simple once you understand who the players are. The first group mentioned is something he calls "The Phantasms." Officially designated as Squadron VAQ-4, these members of the Eagles organization fly the McDonnell F-4/G Phantom II in something known as a "Wild Weasel" role. This is simply a fancy way of saying it's their job to destroy enemy radar sites by first drawing their attention, then launching AGM-88s to ensure that said radar unit is never turned on again.

Soon after mentioning the Phantasms, the good admiral also mentions a group he calls the "Yellowjackets," and is promptly followed by Doctor Director making mention of something she calls the "Blue-Nosed Bastards."

The Yellowjackets are a squadron of ground-strike pilots designated as VA-12. Equipped to fly the Vought A-7/E Corsair II, their normal role is to conduct precision tactical strikes against ground targets, thereby downgrading the enemy's ability to wage war. Rugged and well trained, their name is derived from the broad yellow stripes that adorn the wings, tail and fuselage of their aircraft.

The Blue-Nosed Bastards on the other hand hail from Squadron VF-5. Equipped with the McDonnell Douglas F/A-18 Hornet, the "Blue Boys" as the admiral refers to them are equally at home in either the air-to-air or air-to-surface role. Named for the bold, royal blue noses of their aircraft, the inspiration behind their unique look can be traced back to one of the legendary air combat units of the Second World War.

Stationed near the town of Bodney, England starting in July of 1943, the 352nd Fighter Group became the scourge of the German Luftwaffe during numerous bomber escort missions over Europe throughout 1943 and 1944. Noted for the bright blue noses that designated their unit, German pilots soon came to refer to these American flyers as the "Blue-Nosed Bastards of Bodney." The Americans took the moniker as a compliment and adopted it as an unofficial title for their group.

_CBU-59:_ Officially known as the CBU-59B Rockeye II, this weapon is a 750-pound cluster weapon designed for use against personnel and materials such as lightly armored vehicles and the like. As an unguided weapon, the Rockeye is dropped over a target area and is allowed to freefall for a designated period of time before shedding its outer casing and releasing the sub munitions inside.

At this point, 717 bomblets are released into the sky to scatter over a wide area. Each BLU-71/B bomblet carries a shaped charge and contact fuse capable of penetrating light to medium armor, as well as incendiary and fragmentation features that are of great effect against personnel assets. The overall objective is to carpet a wide area with destructive force.

First developed in the 1970s, one hundred and eighty six CBU-59s were delivered onto targets during the first Gulf War. Fortunate Iraqi troops who survived these attacks later claimed to have seen "steel rain" during their ordeal.

And that's a wrap for this installment of "Rise of Rhodighan," my fellow net-heads. I certainly hope you've all enjoyed my first offering of this shiny New Year. As always, leave a review and receive a reply. I'll catch all you cats on the next go 'round!

Toodles!

_Nutzkie…_


	10. Whirlwinds & Whirlybirds

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Ten ~**

_"Annnnnnnnd… Tee-zero! Let the games begin."_

Kim grimaced silently in the pre-dawn darkness as she watched the final few seconds tick off of her wrist Kimmunicator. A few hours before she had set the integrated chronometer to provide a final countdown of sorts, keeping precise track of the time until the first airborne units would be hitting the ground.

It had been a grueling, backbreaking trek to get to this point. Two days had passed since their encounter with the sniper and although contact with the enemy had been minimal, the journey had been by no means easy. The group had been forced to duck and cover several times and the topography had been less than conducive to travel. A multitude of streambeds cut across their northerly path, faithfully carrying runoff from the mountains to the sea. Thickets of trees and tangles of brush further impeded their progress, and while occasional open areas promised fast progress, they also promised exposure to ever-vigilant enemy eyes. It seemed as though even when they caught a break, they were still getting the short end of the stick.

And to spite this Herculean effort, the only result had been to place them where they were now: With men falling from the sky and the area around them poised to become a branch office of Hell, they were still six miles from the relative safety of the drop zones.

At least she thought they were six miles away. Truth be told, without Wade's "eye-in-the-sky" satellites to keep track of their position, they could be in New Jersey for all she knew. Her only sources of navigation over the past two-and-a-half days had been a compass, instinct, and a nearly religious-like faith in her own ability to get them home.

Well, honestly, even that wasn't entirely true.

There was another big reason for their progress so far, and he was currently sound asleep with his head in her lap.

Ron had been nothing less than a godsend during this difficult time. Since the sniper incident he had sucked it up and stepped up, cooking for the group, providing tactical opinions when called for, and generally helping to keep everyone's spirits up with his oddball antics and child-like wonder. All of the challenges and setbacks he had handled like a battle-worn veteran, and not once had he shown any sign of the inner turmoil that Kim knew for a fact he was carrying. His sole focus had been the mission, and he had attacked it with all the gusto that he would normally direct toward a grande-sized chimerito combo platter. He had been a bastion of strength and stability: He had held the team together.

And now he slept: Like a golden-haired guardian angel, sent from heaven to protect and defend her. As was their usual custom, he had taken the first watch earlier that night and after three hours they had switched. Now, with the clock reading 5:00 exactly, they had another hour before they would once again raise their motley group and begin the arduous journey anew.

With one eye scanning their surroundings and the other focused on her slumbering companion, Kim couldn't help but smile. Even asleep, his cherubic features brought her an incredible sense of peace. Even his occasional snort brought a giggle to her lips. He didn't really snore, she had learned, so much as he made a slight breathing noise that whistled lightly through his partially open mouth. She reached down to gently wipe a small dab of drool away from the corner of his mouth, prompting him to stir slightly and mumble something unintelligible before returning to his previous state.

"Dead to the world." She silently chuckled to herself, reflecting on Ron's almost superhuman ability to sleep anywhere and at any time. Years of grabbing catnaps in such uncomfortable places as drafty cargo planes and damp rainforests had given him sleep patterns that sometimes bordered on narcolepsy. Given the right circumstances, she doubted the ability of a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant to wake him up.

_"Sleep well, young soldier."_ She silently and wistfully concluded. _"For soon it will be another day."_

* * *

"Well that's certainly a blast from the past." Ron observed, craning his neck toward the sky.

"Yeah. No doubt." Kim agreed.

For most of the morning so far the group had been walking and watching as a virtual air show played out overhead. Alpha Jets and Gazelle helicopters had been running aerial relays in support of the battle to the north, but the sight of destructo-bots soaring through the sky represented a new twist.

"Guess Dementor sold off some of his stock." Ron pondered. "Man, this economy is rough on everybody."

"Well we can kick his biscuit for selling out later." Kim pointed out, her eyes returning to the trail ahead. "But for right now let's keep moving."

Pushing over a low ridge and dropping into the shallow gulch beyond, they made their way through a lightly wooded area of manzinita and creosote trees. Although the activity overhead often resembled Middleton Airport on the day before Thanksgiving, the vegetation provided just enough cover to maintain concealment, while not being so thick as to impede progress. They found little difficulty as they advanced up the slope of the next ridge and crested the top…

And immediately hit the dirt.

The valley below them was not like the deserted meadows that they had passed through previously. Far from it, the entire area was littered men and materials. Stacks of packing crates lay beneath camouflaged tarps while various vehicles and equipment sat interspersed amongst them. And throughout it all, uniformed men milled about, some moving with intent of purpose while others seemed to simply be biding their time, hoping no one happened along to give them an order. Still others stood by as sentries, the menacing forms of assault rifles slung dangerously from their shoulders.

"Oh-kaaaaaaay. This is a setback." Ron plaintively observed.

"State the obvious much?" Kim snarked, turning her attention to the brow of the hill. "Now let's go scout this sucker."

Motioning for the rest of the group to stay back, the intrepid duo crawled commando-fashion up to the brow of the hill and peered over. Sure enough, the valley beyond was a veritable beehive of activity, several acres in scope.

"So whadaya think?" Ron finally asked after several minutes of silent observation.

"Looks like a marshalling area of some sort." Kim theorized as she peered through her high-tech binoculars once more. "With the battle to the north this is probably a forward staging point in their supply chain."

"You think we can get around this mess?"

"Actually, that might not be necessary." Kim grinned, bringing the high-end optics down from her face. "You see that over there?"

"What over where?"

"That. That big green and beige thing over there." She pointed in the direction she was referencing.

"Oh, that!" Ron realized. "Unless I'm missing my guess, that's an Mi-24 Hind."

"So you're familiar with it then?"

"Well I know it's a heavy attack chopper." Ron shrugged. "The Ruskies used 'em a lot for ground support and light troop transport in Afghanistan. So what of it?"

"Can you fly it?" she smirked, thinking it somewhat silly to actually be asking such an obvious question.

"In all honesty KP, I usually try to keep my distance from whirly-birds." Ron nervously admitted. "In my book, anything with wings that move faster than the fuselage can't be safe."

"Okay, point made." Kim admitted with a gleam in her eye. "But you didn't answer my question, flyboy. Can you fly that thing?"

"Affirmative." Ron relented. He so didn't like where this conversation was headed.

"Okay, so that means we just have to sneak in there, boost that bird, and we're home free." Kim postulated, the gears of her mind already churning away at full tilt.

"Whoa whoa whoa there, Kimbo!" Ron protested, waving his hands in an excited "cease-and-desist" gesture. "That's a lot of ground we're gonna need to cover, and there's a whole mess of guys down there. Guys who're armed to the teeth, I might add."

"Guns don't kill, Ron. People kill." Kim pointed out, as much for her own benefit as for her boyfriend's.

"Yeah, people with guns!" Ron shot back.

"And that's why I've got you watching my back, monkey boy."

Ron appeared less than convinced.

"You're worried that it's gonna be difficult?" Kim asked concernedly.

"I'm worried that it's gonna be impossible."

"Impossible?" Kim asked in mock shock. "After all these years Ron, do I really need to say it?"

"I know… I know. Check your name." Ron relented with an exasperated sigh. After years as a member of Team Possible, he knew an un-winnable argument when he saw one. Sometimes, when faced with an impossible position, a strategic withdrawal was the best course of action. "So how do you want to swing this?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Kim lasciviously grinned.

* * *

Infiltrating the security perimeter actually proved to be easier than expected. A well-placed tin of knockout gas felled a nearby sentry and the numerous stacks of crates and boxes served to conceal the team's movements as they worked their way ever deeper into the facility, and closer to their objective. Dodging the occasional passer-by, they took a circuitous route through the maze of materials and eventually took shelter behind a large tracked vehicle.

"Okay, everybody hold up." Kim instructed as she activated the wrist Kimunicator. "Take a quick breather while I get some pictures."

"Uh, not to second guess your ordinarily badical leadership skills KP," Ron interjected, "but maybe this isn't really the time for sightseeing."

"Not sightseeing… Scouting, Ron." Kim clarified. "When we make it back to friendly lines, it'll be nice having some intel to show for our trouble." She turned her attention to a row of armored trucks a few yards away.

"Cobra assault vehicles." She murmured to herself as she snapped several photos. "Looks like somebody's been on a spending spree."

"Uh, KP?"

"Yeah Ron."

"What about this guy here?"

Kim turned to face her boyfriend and found him gesturing toward the large steel monstrosity that the group was currently sheltered against.

For all outward appearances it looked like a normal battle tank, but a closer inspection revealed several key departures from traditional tank design. The most obvious of these was the lack of a revolving turret, but size was also an issue, with the overall dimensions of this steel beast being much larger than one would normally anticipate. The angular, olive drab casemate rose to a height of nearly nine feet and the barrel of the main gun stretched more than 15 feet from its base.

"What the heck?" Kim stammered.

"Tank-killer." Ron remarked, casting a distasteful eye across the machine. "Hard as heck to knock out and packs a serious punch. Not having a turret keeps the sticker price down."

"I guess that's understandable." Kim thoughtfully concurred. "No turret means no bearings to lube, no drive system to install, no need to balance everything, and you can stick a much bigger gun on the front. Say, how do you know so much about this Ron?"

"Let's just say our personal histories cross in some rather unpleasant ways."

"Huh?"

"Try to imagine it with a big black cross painted on the side."

"Ohhhhhh, yikes!"

"Yeah. Honestly, I don't know what's worse: This blast from the past or the fact that these tin pushers are so hard up for ideas they're taking tips from the losers."

"Well you don't have to worry about that here." Alexia interjected, closely inspecting a data plate that was bolted to the vehicle's side just above the track. "I don't think the Germans were slapping these on their junk back in forty-four."

The group quickly gathered around to inspect the mysterious label, and the message was plain for all to see.

"Another quality HenchCo. product… Better villainy through innovation."

"So THAT'S what they meant when they said I could win a tank!" Ron exclaimed. "Man, I've always wondered about that."

"Be glad you didn't win." Kim grumbled as she snapped a digital photo. "It's nowhere near street legal and the gas mileage has gotta be beyond lousy."

"Yeah, and Mom probably wouldn't let me park it in the driveway either." Ron sighed. "Yet another dream bites the dust."

"I'm sure you'll get over it." Kim groaned, powering down the Kimmunicator once more. "Now let's get ready to move again. Everyone on me."

Moving quickly once again, the group edged ever closer to their target until finally they were no more than 20 yards away. From that point, peeking around a corner, they got their first detailed view of their quarry.

"Wow, she's a big bird." Kim gawked. "Say Ron, just what kind of time do you have in something this size, anyway?"

Ron responded by glancing at his watch.

"About ten fifteen." He replied.

"I had to ask." She groaned. Instilling confidence was a skill that her boyfriend still needed to work on.

"And that's not our only problem." Alexia spoke up. "Check out tall dark and nosey over there."

Sure enough, a lone sentry was pacing near the tail of the aircraft. With an AK-47 cradled casually in his arms he wore a look of bored indifference on his face. Clearly this was a man who had not chosen his assigned duty this day.

"So how do you plan to get us past this fine gentleman?" Wally inquired from the rear of the group.

"Knockout gas?" Ron offered.

"Too far away." Kim declined. "He'd notice before we could ever get close enough."

Undaunted, Ron tried a different tack.

"I see. So you're saying we need a distraction then?" he offered, the wheels of his mind already turning. "Now you're speaking my language. Ah-booyah."

"Why? What do you have in mind?" Kim asked, glancing back and forth between Ron and the sentry who by now had turned his back toward the group once again.

"Watch and learn." Ron answered, quickly flipping through several transmutable camouflage patterns on his battle suit before settling on one that bore a remarkable resemblance to the fatigues worn by the guard. "Oh, and be ready to move on my signal."

"Wait! What's the signal?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

And with that, Ron strode out from behind the crates that hid their position and began walking straight toward their quarry.

* * *

The lone sentry absent-mindedly kicked a pile of dirt from beneath his boot and sighed in utter annoyance. Of all the rotten duties he could draw, here in a place where the thrill of battle was all around him, the entire island being turned into a war zone, he was stuck behind the lines, twiddling his thumbs and guarding this 30-year-old reject from a Soviet scrap yard. Why they even bothered to maintain this flying relic was beyond him, let alone why he had to stand here in the sun and guard it. If he had his druthers they would sell the piece of junk to the first salvage yard in the phone book and transfer him to a front line combat unit. At least there he could be of some use.

He was just about to start listing all of the ways he could do away with this oversized eggbeater when a slender young man in a camouflage jump suit strode briskly past. The freckled, boyish face was not one that he recognized, but the young gentleman wore what appeared to be standard issue fatigues and walked with intent of purpose that suggested he knew exactly where he was and why he was there.

But still, there was something off about this newcomer.

With curiosity now consuming him, the sentry turned as the young man slipped past and walked directly up to the aircraft he was charged with securing. He watched as with two quick leaps the golden-haired mystery man ascended the ladder to the main cockpit and popped the hatch.

"Hey there!" the sentry finally shouted. "Just one second there!"

"Yeah?" The blond man replied.

"Excuse me, but just what exactly are you doing?"

The young man glanced into the cockpit before returning his attention to the sentry and answering in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"I'm taking this chopper. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I can see that." The sentry responded, ominously shifting his grip on the weapon he carried. Truth be told, he was none too thrilled with this young man's flippant attitude right now. "You got any authorization papers to be doing that?"

The young blond simply smiled knowingly.

"No, but she does."

The sentry momentarily blinked in confusion, but quickly found his attention redirected when a he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.

"Authorize this!" a fiery redhead with blazing green eyes growled. Rearing back she drove her fist into his solar plexus, and the entire world instantly went dark.

"Fill that out in triplicate." Kim sneered as she stood over the fallen sentry, gently rubbing her knuckles.

"And file it under 'oh' for 'owned'!" Ron enthusiastically added. "Way to be, KP!"

"Right. Let's not get cocky." Kim chided. "We're not out of the woods yet."

"I thought we walked out of the woods last night."

"Just start the darn chopper!"

"Right then! One red hot whirly bird coming right up!" Ron said as he ducked into the cockpit.

"Everybody else into the back." Kim ordered. "This flight ain't waiting for stragglers."

"Actually, I'd rather stay right here with you." Wally offered. In all the commotion, Kim hadn't even noticed the young prince sliding up beside her.

"And why is that?" Kim asked with barely contained annoyance.

"Because of them." Wally pointed out.

"Huh? What are you talking… Ohhhhhh, snap!"

Just a few stacks away, a small group of men had noticed the commotion, and were now making a commotion of their own.

"KP! We've got company!" Ron called out through the open cockpit door. "And I don't think it's the welcome wagon!"

"No duh!"

"And sarcasm isn't helping any!"

"Just get that oversized salad shooter running already! I've got this!"

Kneeling down by the prone form of the sentry she had just decked, Kim rolled the unconscious form over and unclipped the equipment belt from around his waist. Then, grabbing the belt with one hand and the man's rifle with the other she dashed over to a nearby row of crates and crouched down, taking as much concealment as she could find.

"Everybody take cover!" she shouted at the group. As three people dove behind whatever they could find, she checked the safety and pressed the polished wooden stalk into her shoulder. With trembling hands and a racing heart, she took an apprehensive breath.

"I must truly love you, Ron." She thought to herself. "Because I hate violence, and I… hate… guns!"

Uniformed men hit the deck and scattered as the first volley sailed over their heads. It was clearly a well-placed burst, high enough to present no real danger, but low enough to convey the threat that the next one might not be so pleasant. The reaction to this threat was mixed, with some returning fire while others opted to stay down, deciding that in this case, discretion was truly the better part of valor.

As Alexia and Wally crawled over to her position, Kim continued to lay down a withering barrage of suppressive fire. Killing another human being was of course the last thing that she wanted to do, but if she could just keep these goons pinned down and away from their position, then maybe the mission could be accomplished with everyone walking away unharmed.

But while she may have been idealistic in that way, she wasn't completely naive. She knew that the longer this drew out, the greater the odds that tragedy would indeed strike someone nearby.

"Anytime now Ron!" she shouted, jamming another clip into the rifle's breech and racking the action lever.

"Well maybe you'd like to come up here and find the starter for me then!" Ron shouted back.

"You can't find the starter?" This was currently the last thing she wanted to hear.

"It's not my fault!" Ron defensively insisted. "All the labels are in Russian! I mean, what's up with this crazy language anyway? There's about five bazillion letters and half of them are backwards 'R's!"

"Try searching for a word that looks like 'hayano'!" Alexia shouted over the din of battle. By now more enemy troops were joining the fray, and the whistle of bullets could be heard above their own heads.

"Hayano?" Kim asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Russian for 'start'." Alexia stated. "It's not pronounced that way, but the Cyrillic characters bear a certain resemblance to English."

"You speak Russian?"

"I speak five languages. English, French, Russian, Italian and Japanese."

"Super for you." Kim mumbled as she turned her attention back to the battle. Just when she thought there weren't any more ways for this royal-blooded bimbo to show her up, the duchess revealed a new aspect of herself. At this point she would only be half surprised if Alexia revealed she saved the world in her spare time too.

Pumping another burst into a tarp-covered stack of supplies, she forced a pair of helmeted soldiers into a hasty retreat. Her focus was so intent of the unfolding scene before her that she failed to notice the dull thud of a blunt object landing between her and the prince.

"Excuse me, but what's this?" Wally asked, tapping Kim on the shoulder. Supremely annoyed at the unwelcome distraction, she spun around ready to tear into the young prince for not waiting until a more appropriate time. Her heart nearly stopped however when she saw the dark, pineapple-like casing he held in his hand. Its clean lines and obvious lack of a safety lever making its oblong shape all the more menacing.

"You don't want it!" Was all she could scream.

For the most part, the prince seemed unfazed by it all. Thoroughly oblivious to the danger, he simply shrugged in resignation and casually tossed the offending object over his shoulder, back in the direction from which it had come.

Then, it was the enemy's turn to scream.

Like rats abandoning an exposed nest, half-a-dozen troops vaulted from behind a stack of crates and scrambled for cover. Two seconds later, the area where they had been erupted in a cloud of dust and flaming debris.

"Whaaaaaat?" Wally whined when he saw Kim staring at him in complete shock. Kim could only shake her head in disbelief and return her attention to the task at hand, resolving to revisit the issue at a later date. Deep down, she wondered whether the young royal was a genius or a nut.

"Booyah! We have contact!" Ron suddenly shouted from behind the group as the telltale whine of turbines spinning up began to mix with the noise of battle. For Kim and the rest of the team, it was at that moment the most welcome sound in the world.

But the telltale clanking of an approaching destructo-bot, however, was not.

"Alexia!" Kim shouted as she leveled the assault rifle once more. "Get everybody onboard the chopper! I'll hold this oversized coffee can off!"

When she received no response she glanced to her right, only to find empty space where the duchess had been kneeling just moments before.

"Great." Kim silently cursed. "Of all the times for Little Miss Thing to go AWOL, she picks right now."

Swearing an oath to deal out a royal beat down once this nightmare was finally over; she drew a bead of the advancing automaton and pulled the trigger. Much to her dismay, the armor-piercing rounds simply glanced off the machine's steel carapace. A second burst met with similar effect, and only prompted the mechanical menace to increase its speed.

"Ho boy. So not good." She silently cringed.

Suddenly, there came a mighty flash and roar from behind her, and the droid's torso exploded in a shower of smoke and shattered steel. The force of the blast was enough to send the machine sprawling backward several feet, crashing into a stack of crates and bringing another stack down on top of it, its arms and legs flailing the entire time.

Stunned by the sudden turn of events, Kim slowly turned around to see the duchess standing a few feet behind her; a self-satisfied smile across her face and the still smoking tube of an empty RPG-7 perched jauntily on her shoulder. She nodded in acknowledgement to Kim.

"What… the…" Kim stammered.

"You know, it's really amazing what some people leave lying around." She shrugged, casually tossing the spent launcher into the dirt. "Now c'mon Wally. Let's grab a seat and ace this place."

_"Yee noo, eetz reely ehmeezing whet peeple leave leeing eerend."_ Kim indignantly mocked. That girl was so cruising for a bruising just then.

By now the din of battle was being drowned out by the roar of the chopper. With rotors now spinning at full speed, the downwash produced a dust cloud that welled up and danced about with hurricane intensity, effectively obscuring the group from prying eyes. Peering through the billowing cloud, Kim could barely see Ron motioning to her. It was time to go.

Dropping the "borrowed" AK-47 to the ground, she raced to the front of the copter and flung herself into the forward cockpit, slamming the hatch and fastening the safety harness as quickly as she could. Just behind her, Ron checked his own harness and gave a final once over to the controls. Although he couldn't read a word of what was printed, he was quickly discovering that helicopter design was relatively uniform no matter where in the world you were. The placement of key controls was familiar enough to him that he could at least make educated guesses as to how most functions worked.

Satisfied that all at least appeared as it should be, he grasped the two throttle levers and nudged them forward. Then, watching the tachometer as the revs climbed, he grasped the collective control by his left hip and gently pulled up, gingerly coaxing the 10,000-pound beast away from the bonds of mother earth. For the first time in three days, they were airborne once again.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well Hey-diddily-ho there fellow literary aficionados. And welcome back to the latest installment in this little tale of ours.

As you're by now aware, there's no shortage of action and military hardware in this chapter. So without further adieu, let's cut right to the guts of it all.

_Otokar Cobra:_ A four-wheeled light-armored vehicle developed by the Turkish military in the mid 1990s, the Cobra borrows heavily in its design from the American High-Mobility-Multipurpose-Wheeled-Vehicle. (Humvee)

Built with a clean undercarriage and a distinctive V-shaped hull, the Cobra is highly adept at resisting the effects of small arms fire, land mines and improvised explosive devices. Meanwhile, its open and relatively spacious interior offers a high degree of adaptability, allowing for the fulfillment of multiple roles. Using a stripped-down vehicle as a base, the Cobra can serve as a platform for the roles of armored personnel carrier, anti-tank vehicle, light reconnaissance, air search radar platform, forward observation, artillery spotter, armored ambulance, mobile communications center, radio scout and armored command post. Furthermore, by fitting a turret atop the Cobra's armored roof, weapon systems ranging from 12.7-millimeter heavy machine guns to 40-millimeter grenade launchers to anti-tank and surface-to-air missiles can be mounted.

Currently more than 3,500 Cobras have been produced for deployment by ten countries including Turkey, and the list of potential new customers increases every year.

_Tank-Killer:_ The vehicle that Ron takes issue with early in this chapter has its roots in the hellish days of World War Two. As the war raged on across Eastern Europe in the summer of 1942, oddly designed tank-like vehicles began arriving on the battlefields of the western Soviet Union. Lacking the rotating turrets that characterized traditional battle tanks, they functioned more or less as rolling bunkers, prowling the countryside and bringing tremendous fire to bear on enemy tanks and fortifications alike.

First deployed by the German Wermacht, they were dubbed Sturmgeschutz, meaning "Assault Guns," and quickly proved effective, due primarily to their thicker armor and larger guns when compared against traditional tanks. Not to be outdone however, the Soviet Union soon responded with their own series of tank hunting vehicles: Steel behemoths boasting even larger guns and thicker armor than the German examples.

But as the war raged on and the tide of battle turned against the Third Reich, turretless tanks took on an entirely new significance. Not being burdened by elaborate drive systems, troublesome bearings or delicate balance mechanisms, turretless tanks could be produced quicker, less expensively and in greater numbers than their turreted cousins. Faced with mounting losses and dwindling resources, this was a solution that Germany desperately needed.

The vehicle that Ron takes such issue with in this chapter got its start as a machine known as a Jagdpanther. (Hunting Panther) Built upon the chassis of the venerable Panzerkampfwagen V, (a.k.a. the "Panther Tank"), Jagdpanthers first began arriving on the battlefield in early 1944. Deployed on both the eastern and western fronts, 415 Jagdpanthers would ultimately roll into battle under the banner of the German Reich. Although their presence had little effect on the war's ultimate outcome, they proved a formidable presence and a force to be reckoned with, and are today recorded by history as one of the most effective mobile artillery weapons of the war, standing beside the Soviet SU-100 in that distinction.

And even ultimate German defeat was not the end of this fearsome machine. Following the war, an updated version of the Jagdpanther was produced for the reorganized German military. Called the Kanonenjagdpanzer (Cannon Tank Hunter), its 90-millimeter gun represented a marginal improvement over the 88-millimeter armament carried by the original model.

But as time went by, advances in armor design rendered even these upgraded vehicles obsolete, and many were converted to either missile-equipped tank hunters, or to unarmed reconnaissance vehicles. For the purposes of our story however, our friends at HenchCo have taken the idea and ran with it. Who knows what modern surprises they've installed, but rest assured that this newest incarnation is battlefield capable and available with generous financing terms for repeat customers.

_Mi-24 Hind:_ The Soviet Union was admittedly a late entry into the field of military helicopters. Even by the early 1960s when the American UH-1 Iroquois was first being deployed, the Soviets had no active helicopter program. Perhaps spurred on by the notable success of Russian immigrant Igor Sikorsky in America, the Soviet military was quick to catch up, however, and by the middle of the decade fielded a stable of large and powerful choppers.

Designed by Mikhail Leont'yevich Mil, the Mi-24 was first flown in September of 1969. Powered by twin Izotov TV3-177A turboshaft engines, the Hind produced a grand total of 34,000 horsepower and was capable of speeds exceeding 200 miles per hour. A crew of two sat in a tandem-style "double-bubble" cockpit toward the front of the craft, while up to eight fully armed troops could be carried in a compartment at the rear. Armed with a turret-mounted 12.7-millimeter Gattling gun in its chin, the Hind could also carry more than 3,300 pounds of ordinance beneath a pair of abbreviated wings that also served to generate lift at high speeds, taking strain off of the main rotor. Open windows in the rear compartment could be fitted with light machine guns, allowing onboard infantry troops to defend the craft as well.

Since its inception more than 2,000 Hinds have been built, many of which now serve in the militaries of more than 50 other nations. The Russian Federation, (the political descendent of the Soviet Union), recently announced plans to replace its aging fleet of Mi-24s with as many as 300 more modern Mi-28 helicopters, but with the hundreds of examples still serving around the world, it is likely the venerable Hind will continue flying for many years to come.

_M-134:_ A product of necessity, the M-134 has its genesis in the jungle canopies of Vietnam. For it was here that American helicopter crews discovered the disturbing truth that their door-mounted M-60 machine guns were ineffective against Viet Cong troops hidden within the dense foliage. What was needed was a weapon with a much higher rate of fire. Something that could literally put out a "stream of lead," but at the same time not suffer from the problems of jamming and overheating that had plagued earlier attempts at fast firing machine guns.

The task of finding a solution to this daunting challenge fell to General Electric, who quickly looked to their successful 20-millimeter M-61 Vulcan cannon as a model. Using the electric drive system and multi-chambered firing mechanism of the Vulcan, it wasn't long before the engineers at GE had a .30 caliber weapon that boasted a firing rate of up to 6,000 rounds per minute. They lovingly dubbed their creation the "Minigun," and sent it off to the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam.

Designated as the M-134 by the military, the minigun quickly proved its worth. The weapon was small enough to be mounted on virtually any vehicle, was reliable even in the mud and moisture of the equatorial environment, and put out enough ammunition to literally cut down trees en masse. For the first time, chopper crews had the ability to clear landing zones and put VC ground troops on the defensive wherever they decided to land.

Well that just about does it for another chapter, folks. After much trial and tribulation, our friends are in the air once again. The question is for how long can they stay there? Because if this experience has taught us anything, it's that no success or failure is necessarily permanent, and circumstances can change on the proverbial dime.

As always, leave a review and receive a reply. Take care, and I'll catch all you cats on the go 'round.

Sayonara!

_Nutzkie…_


	11. Chopper Boost

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Eleven ~**

"We're taking small arms fire from our left flank! Enemy moving in at ten and twelve o'clock!"

"Gotcha, KP! Taking evasive action!"

"And watch out for that radio tower on our right while you're at it!"

"I see it!"

"And would you please stop humming 'Ride of the Valkyries'?"

"Sorry! I was just trying to set the mood!"

_"Everybody's a critic."_ Ron groused to himself as he pushed the cyclic control forward and started moving the massive helicopter ahead. Even now after only a few seconds in the air he could already tell that this wasn't going to be like anything else he'd ever flown. Back during his training, which by now seemed like an entire lifetime ago, he had spent the better part of a week in southern California flying the AH-64/D Apache Longbow. Small, nimble and packing high-tech avionics up the wazoo, the AH-64 had actually been fun to fly.

But this was a complete one-eighty when compared to the agile Apache. Heavy and cumbersome, the Hind felt like a flying school bus rather than a helicopter, and the antiquated sets of analog dials and gauges seemed like stone age technology when compared to the Apache's sleek touch screens and fly-by-light control systems. He halfway suspected that if he started ripping off access panels, he'd find vacuum tubes staring back at him.

And what was up with the ugly shade of aqua that everything in this bird seemed to be painted anyway?

The sound of AK fire pinging off the fuselage brought his mind back to the moment and he kicked the yaw pedals to the right, swinging the chopper's tail around and heading away from the threat. As the nose came about he noticed that the marshaling yard they were now fleeing seemed to go on forever, or at least to the next ridge. There was no mistaking the fact that they had stumbled into a hornet's nest, and that nest had just been whacked with one very big stick.

_"Ho kaaaaaaay…"_ he inwardly cringed, scanning the extensive banks of controls. _"I wonder what's Russian for 'make big kaboomski'?"_

* * *

For her part, Kim wasn't doing much better.

By now she was quickly discovering that Ron's crack about the Cyrillic alphabet wasn't too far off base. The wide array of strange-looking symbols was downright dizzying when you took it all in. Mix in the dozens of toggle switches and control levers to which the labels were assigned and you had a recipe for technological confusion that would give even an M.I.T. graduate night sweats.

_"Okay, okay… Just settle down now Kim."_ She mentally chastised herself. _"You just need something to shoot back with is all. So which of these things looks like a weapon system?"_

Scanning the panels before her, she selected a set of toggle switches that looked promising. One by one she began flipping them upward, watching the rest of the controls for some discernible effect. On her fifth try she noticed activity in the center of the console. An outline diagram of the chopper's fuselage came alive with a small red light in its nose. Almost instantly, her mind recalled the Gatling gun turret she had seen in that very same position.

_"Okay. Now we're getting somewhere."_ She inwardly grinned.

With one hand she reached up to the helmet she wore and brought down a monocle-like apparatus over her right eye, eternally grateful for the Knowing Channel documentary on weapons tech that she had seen the month before. Forced to watch with her father and brothers, there had been a segment on helmet-mounted targeting systems such as this, and as a result she had at least a cursory knowledge of what to do from here. Inwardly she vowed to thank her parents for insisting that the family spend some quality time together in front of the television that night.

Searching the compartment further, she quickly located a squeeze lever on the floor next to her right hip.

_"Seems trigger-like."_ She postulated. _"But there's only one way to find out."_

Closing her left eye to peer through the aperture site of the monocle, she turned her head to place the crosshairs directly over a nearby Quonset hut that was conspicuously separated from the surrounding stockpiles. With a deep breath she adjusted her grip, narrowed her gaze, and squeezed.

Four barrels of 12.7-millimeter furry roared in acquiescence, ripping into the corrugated steel structure like a jackhammer through plaster. The arched roof was torn away by the onslaught and a split-second later the entire structure was consumed by the one-two punch of a shockwave and rolling fireball: The tell-tale sign of an ammo explosion.

_"So THAT'S why they were keeping it away from everything else."_ She inwardly smiled. _"Too bad it wasn't far enough."_

Satisfied that her handiwork would keep at least a portion of their enemy busy, Kim quickly turned her attention to other matters… And other targets.

* * *

For Ron Stoppable, the activities on the ground had not gone unnoticed. Granted, his reputation may have been built largely on being chronically oblivious, but the equivalent of a small volcanic eruption off your eleven o'clock was enough to get even a dead person's attention. There was no way in heck that even HE could miss something like that.

_"Way to be, KP!"_ he thought as he watched the roiling fireball surge upward, towering above them as it took on the ominously familiar shape of a mushroom cloud. _"That oughta' give the goons something else to think about."_

It was a thought that returned his mind back to the weaponry he currently had at his own disposal, if only he could figure out how to access it.

_"Lessee now. These look like fuel management over here... That just screams 'autopilot'... Big red button over there... Probably don't wanna mess with that... Aha! This one looks promising."_

Lifting the selected safety cover and flipping the switch underneath, the Hind responded by switching a small light on the pilot's heads-up display from red to green.

_"Promising."_ Ron mused. _"So then if we do this…"_

Returning his right hand to the cyclic, he gave the trigger the briefest of squeezes and was rewarded with the flash of a pair of S-5 rockets exiting their launchers, lancing out through thin air. Seconds later they impacted in an area surrounded by stacks of fuel barrels. The resulting shrapnel burst easily tore through the flimsy steel cylinders and the area was soon reduced to a raging inferno.

_"Mmmm-mmmmm toasty!"_ the blond smiled to himself. Perhaps he had been too quick to dismiss helicopters as ugly and ungainly second cousins to the fighters he normally flew.

Swinging the nose around even further and drifting into a sideslip maneuver he squeezed and held the trigger again, sending a salvo into the base of the radio tower, toppling the structure and severing all ground-based communication with the outside world.

_"That oughta stop any calls for help."_ He inwardly sneered. _"We're sorry, but the number you're dialing has been blown up..."_

Looking down, he took note of the digital map that occupied most of the right side of the console. Most items of tactical importance were identified, as well as many prominent landmarks. Additionally, without the ability to read a compass labeled in Russian, the map functioned as a rudimentary directional indicator. By keeping one eye on the sky and the other on the motions of the cursor, he could gain at least a general idea of where he was going.

Pointing the chopper's nose towards what he assumed was the northern horizon, Ron pushed the cyclic forward and eased up on the collective once more, dropping the nose and sending the great flying beast accelerating forward. It was time to make like a 'possum and hit the road.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the cramped after compartment, an entirely different battle was taking shape. It was a battle not of bombs and bullets, but of emotions and the meaning of such feelings amidst volatile and uncertain circumstances.

For young Prince Wallace III, the feeling of being cheesed off was nothing new. As a person accustomed to only the finest things in life, it was with at least some regularity that circumstances failed to live up to his expectations: A vacation that proved sub-par, a servant who didn't adequately comprehend his duties, a meal that failed to live up to its five-star rating… Disappointment and anger were things he had simply grown used to over the years: A function of his incredibly high standards.

But this… This was different.

Crouching bruised and dirty in the back corner of a cramped and drafty helicopter, cringing in terror to the sound of bullets glancing off the armored fuselage, these emotions were amplified to unheard of levels, then mixed with feelings that were entirely foreign to him. This was so much more than the casual incompetence he was used to dealing with. It wasn't some blue-collar butler who didn't understand the procedure for properly shining a pair of shoes, or a nitwit chef who couldn't quite grasp the finer points of crème brulee.

No… this was something far, far worse. These were men who had flagrantly violated his country and forcibly driven him from the only home he had ever known. Men who had threatened his life and those of his family, who had deliberately desecrated the very land that was his birthright, and to what end? Vengeance for some perceived slight, so far in the past that even most modern historians were not aware of it? For God's sake, he himself had promised to abolish the monarchy when his time on the throne came, and he had maintained every intention of keeping that promise too. But somehow even that wasn't enough to buy his family's way out of the doghouse. What the hell did these tin-plated twerps want from him anyway? Were they so emotionally repressed that they would settle for nothing less than his country's very blood?

And what about the two newcomers in this whole unfair equation? The two American teenagers, not much older than himself? They had seemingly come from nowhere, offering assistance when none had been asked of them, and had so far displayed a level of competence and self motivation that he could only dream of finding in the palace staff. And yet so far their only reward had been to be subjected to the same threats and thuggish behavior that he himself had been treated to. To call it an injustice was to not do the situation justice itself.

As the craft sped northward, the sense of resentment only became stronger. Buffeted by this emotional maelstrom and battered by the violent motions of the chopper, his soul became a seething torrent of fear and frustration. Feelings of persecution and personal violation combined forces and turned inward upon themselves, redoubling in their intensity until they were finally transformed into an emotion that Wally found strange and new, and yet somehow comforting and appropriate: Rage.

For his part, King Wallace seemed to be taking the overall experience with benign resignation. With his regal white tunic now stained and torn by three days on the run, he slumped down against the cold bulkhead and sighed. The privileged life of a royal certainly had its price, he had always known. But somehow this was something he had never anticipated.

"Uncle Wallace?"

The king looked up to catch the worried expression of his niece. Her concern for her favorite uncle was evident as she reached over and placed a comforting hand on the aging monarch's shoulder.

"How are we holding up?" she asked.

The king managed a weak smile as he reached up to place his own hand over the young duchess's.

"Oh, about as well as can be expected, I suppose." He grinned warmly in response. "Not quite the holiday you were expecting when your father sent you to Rhodighan for the autumn season, is it?"

"Not entirely." Alexia giggled in return. "But then again, it's been so much more exciting than our usual late summer trips to the east coast of Spain. The club scene in Valencia has nothing on this."

The quip elicited an even larger smile from the king.

"Yes, well I suppose it truly is all in how you look at it." He laughed lightly. "Just don't come around expecting this kind of excitement every…"

"YEEEEEEE-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Both Wallace and Alexia's heads snapped around as what they could only describe as a primordial scream reverberated through the confined space. By the time they managed to regain their collective wits about them, young Wally had already leapt from his place of seclusion in the corner and grabbed one of the window guns that flanked both sides of the compartment. Flipping the red power switch on the weapon's right side, the reflex sight quickly powered up, projecting a set of glowing red crosshairs onto its polarized glass.

Like a red cape before a charging bull, the image seemed to strengthen Wally's resolve and focus his rage. Seeing the very people who had caused him so much misery now caught squarely within his sights sent a surge of adrenalin coursing through his veins. With another banshee yell he mashed the triggers back and unleashed a torrent of armor piercing/incendiary revenge onto the earth below.

The first to fall was a fuel truck that vanished in a fireball as the hailstorm of lead tore through its steel hide and ignited its contents. Moments later a nearby stack of equipment crates disintegrated beneath the onslaught, and the destruction only continued from there.

From the far side of the compartment, Wallace and Alexia could only stare in slack-jawed disbelief. As an isolated debutante who had grown up amidst a world of pomp and privilege, confrontation was not ordinarily Wally's forte. Dealing with disagreements and settling scores were tasks that he would normally delegate to his attendants, rather than get his own hands dirty with such menial matters. Conflict was seen as something to be staffed out in this way, leading many to view the young prince as someone who would challenge you to a fight, only to wind up holding the coat instead.

So the sight of the young prince blasting away like Rambo, screaming obscenities and raining a deluge of destruction onto the world below represented a most definite departure from the realm of typical behavior.

"I must say… this is certainly new." Wallace conceded to Alexia as they both sat mesmerized by the unfolding scene.

"Ho yeah." Alexia agreed with a worried look on her face. "Just out of curiosity, is he scaring you right now?"

"I would be inclined to answer yes to that question."

"Good." Alexia shrugged. "I thought it might just be me."

* * *

And further up in the craft's forward compartments, the rain of destruction did not go unnoticed.

"Whoa! I guess somebody's got anger management issues." Ron gasped as he stared out at the unfolding devastation. "Remind me Rufus… Whoever that is, do not tick them off."

The mole rat nodded and saluted in understanding.

* * *

Meanwhile, Kim had her own take on things.

"Peachy. Little Miss Know-it-All knows how to handle small arms too." She grumbled to no one in particular as she raked a row of armored Cobra trucks with the nose gun. "Next she'll probably be driving a tank and defusing land mines while blindfolded."

"What's that, KP?"

"Uh, nothing. It's nothing Ron." Kim fibbed. "How's it going back there with you guys?"

"We're managing." Ron said, sharing a conferring glance with Rufus. "The ol' girl handles like a flying garbage truck but she's solid and seems to pack a punch. Oh hey! There's something big and green in my sights right now!"

A squeeze of the trigger unleashed the hellfire of another S-5 salvo.

"And now there's not."

"Nice shooting, Annie Oakley." Kim panned with an exaggerated eye roll. "Now how about getting us the hell out of Dodge?"

"Awwwwww. But we were just starting to have some fun!" Ron protested, earning an agreeing whine from Rufus.

"It's not a carnival ride, Ron. Let's not get carried away." Kim insisted. "Just point this thing north and fly."

"Actually, that's what we've been doing for the last two minutes."

"Well than why did you…?"

"I wanted to see if you'd noticed."

"Wha…? Why you little…"

"Hey. In my own defense, your reaction was pretty funny."

"So not!"

"Well you're not sitting back here."

"Seriously Ron!"

"Alright! Alright! Truce then?"

"Truce." Kim agreed. "But only for now, mister. Once this mission is over…" She let her words trail off ominously, carrying with them some vague and unspoken threat and prompting Ron to swallow heavily.

"Methinks I may have pushed that one a bit too far." He worriedly admitted to his pet. Rufus nodded in agreement, saluted, and began softly humming Taps.

"Dead man walking." Was a phrase that suddenly popped into his mind. He could only hope that his funeral would be a tasteful affair with full military honors… And catered by Bueno Nacho.

Zooming along at treetop level it wasn't long before they cleared the next ridge and flew on through smooth air. Sensing that at least the immediate danger had passed, Ron gently tugged at the collective and increased their altitude by a few hundred feet. The added cushion made him feel a little more at ease and if things got hairy again, then diving for the deck wasn't that far of a trip.

Kim meanwhile was focusing her thoughts a little farther into the future. After four days in the field and three spent on the run, she was beyond tired. Destroyed was a term that seemed more appropriate at the moment. Four days of swimming through salt water, dodging tree branches and crawling through mud had left her exhausted beyond measure, and it came as no small consternation when she realized the source of the unpleasant odor now filling the cramped cockpit was herself. She was worn out, ragged, covered in dirt and bruises, wearing a damp battle suit that was now clinging to her like a wet Kleenex and fighting a losing battle against the mother of all split-end cases. In short, she looked and felt like Hell.

And so the thought that in a few short hours it would all be over suited her just fine. She closed her eyes and smiled serenely as she imagined stripping out of that confounded suit and stepping into the steamy goodness of a hot shower. She could almost feel the hot water cascading down every inch of her lithe frame, washing away the grime and soothing sore muscles as it went: A decadently sensual experience.

She even allowed herself to imagine Ron sharing the shower with her. It was a thought that had crossed her mind in the past, but for the first time she found herself actually taking the idea seriously: A fact she found surprising… and more than a little bit exhilarating. The thought of those large, gentle hands… slowly caressing her shoulders and back… tenderly massaging away the tightness and pain… Then turning in his arms to face him… gradually returning his warm embrace as she rose up to her tip-toes and…

"Uh oh."

"Huh? What 'uh oh'?" Kim stuttered, somewhat more than slightly tweaked at being disturbed from what she could only describe as the most delicious daydream.

"Oh nothing." Ron replied, a little too quickly for her taste.

"Don't 'nothing' me, Ron!" She insisted. "I distinctly heard you say 'uh oh'."

"It's… uh… nothing serious. Really! Totally no big!"

"'Uh oh' is always big, Ron."

"Well… you see… it's kinda like… something…"

"Spit it out, Ron!" Kim demanded.

"Lemme put it this way." Ron finally sighed in resignation. "The next time we boost a chopper, we should probably steal one with some gas in it."

"Ohhhhhhh no! Don't tell me…"

"'Fraid so."

"But how can you tell if everything's written in Russian?"

"Trust me, KP. A little red light means the same thing in every language."

"So how much longer 'till we run out entirely?"

It was at that moment that there came a distinct drop in the pitch of the engines: A telltale sign of fuel-starved turbines spooling down.

"I'd say right about now." Ron replied.

"State the obvious much?"

"Sarcastic much?"

"So what do we do?"

"Just hang on." Ron said, taking a quick glance around to note the surrounding landscape. "I'm gonna auto-rotate us down."

"Auto-rotate? What's that?"

"It's where you use the energy already stored in the main rotor to slow your fall. If I can do it right then we'll be on the ground before we lose enough revs to stall out."

"Sounds complicated."

"Trust me… It is."

"So you've done this before then?"

"No, but I saw it in a movie once."

"Oh, that's reassuring." Kim anxiously groaned. And here not twenty seconds ago she had been thinking the worst of this waking nightmare was over. Now, with the cycle poised to repeat itself once again, the mission that wouldn't die was quickly turning into the gift that keeps on giving.

"That'll teach me to count my chickens." She groused, reaching across her lap and tightening her harness until it hurt. "A lesson learned courtesy of the never-ending story… part seven… thousand."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

…And thus we all see why you should never park and leave your helicopter with the keys inside.

Well now… That was quite the exciting exchange, wasn't it? After this mission I think Ron's should probably avoid anything with a pair of wings, and Kim should look into carrying flight insurance.

_Helicopter Controls:_ For those of you who think your job keeps you busy with multiple tasks at once, try flying a helicopter: It'll leave you longing for the simple relaxation of computer crashes and 4:30 deadlines. For unlike their fixed wing cousins, helicopters have the ability to move freely through all three dimensions. But with such complexity of motion comes complexity of physics to govern such motion, and complexity of controls to manage those physics.

In it's most basic form, the controls of a helicopter can be broken down into three categories: The cyclic, which controls the lateral motions of the craft, the collective, which controls vertical movement, and the yaw pedals, which control the rotational aspects of the craft.

The first thing to remember is that the blades of the rotor are like small wings. (This is why helicopters and airplanes are often referred to as rotational-wing and fixed-wing aircraft respectively.) And just like the wings of an airplane, they produce lift as they gain speed. Give them enough speed and the lift they generate is enough to pull you off the ground.

Now as a default setting, the rotor blades are set to generate neutral lift. That is, they generate enough lift to keep the helicopter from falling, but not enough to send it climbing. In order to climb, the pilot pulls up on the collective, which is normally located beside his left hip. This increases the pitch of the man rotor blades, increasing the lift they generate and causing to craft to gain altitude.

But in addition to lift, this also generates a physical problem. As the great scientist Sir Isaac Newton teaches us, every action has an opposite and equal reaction. In this specific case, that little tidbit means that if the main rotor is spinning in a clockwise direction, then the helicopter's fuselage will rotate at an equal speed in a counter-clockwise direction. This will make for a rather rough ride… and a quick crash.

This is why most helicopters have a tail rotor in addition to the main rotor. This is essentially a hedge against the torque, (the scientific name for that "spin-the-other-way" thingy), pulling the chopper's tail back in the other direction and stopping the spin.

Now the tail rotor is similar to the main rotor: Its default position is one of neutrality. If left alone it will hold the chopper stable, neither creating nor allowing a spin in either direction. But when the pitch of the main rotor is changed, aerodynamic drag is increased. This necessitates an increase in power by the pilot, which he accomplishes by increasing throttle: Usually a twist-grip on the collective handle, similar to the accelerator of a motorcycle. The sudden jump in power in turn creates more torque, which necessitates a change in the pitch of the tail rotor blades to compensate. A repositioning of the yaw pedals will create this change and the chopper remains stable.

So to review what we know so far: Pulling the collective sends you up and creates drag, forcing you to increase power. The increased power creates torque, forcing you to adjust the pedals. Did everyone get that? Me neither.

And so, with our whirlybird now safely in the air, it's time to finally go somewhere. This is accomplished by pushing forward on the cyclic, which is usually positioned in the center of the cockpit floor, directly between the pilot's legs. This has the effect of increasing the main rotors pitch toward the rear of the craft and decreasing the pitch to the front. The result is that the entire helicopter dips its nose downward, and with the main rotor now angled slightly forward from level, the copter begins to move in that direction. The downside, however, is that with the rotor's lift, (or rotor wash), now no longer pointing straight down, the craft can no longer maintain altitude. The craft begins to slowly descend at this point, and the pilot is forced to compensate by once again pulling on the collective to increase pitch, which creates drag, which creates a need for more power… torque… pedals… etcetera… etcetera…

And now that we're sufficiently busy keeping all these balls and our own sorry butts in the air, let's throw in one more aerodynamic wrinkle! You see, as the helicopter gains speed, an inherent imbalance becomes apparent, and the problem stems from the simple fact our forward motion means rotational speed is no longer a constant.

For example: If we assume that our imaginary helicopter is moving forward at 100 miles per hour and the main rotor is spinning clockwise, (when viewed from above), then as the rotor blades move to the left side of the craft their speed increases, since they are moving with the helicopter. (Actual speed = rotational speed + 100 mph) But when those same blades pass to the right side of the chopper, then they start moving against the chopper's own motion and their speed decreases. (Actual speed = rotational speed – 100 mph) This creates a difference of 200 miles per hour between the left and right sides of the main rotor, and it sets up a phenomenon known as "dissymmetry of lift." For as we've already established, speed equals lift, and if left unchecked this imbalance will be enough to flip the chopper over and send it spinning into the ground. Are we having fun yet?

The remedy for this predicament is to shove the cyclic slightly to the left, increasing lift on the rotor's right side and compensating for the imbalance. But just as before; pitch creates drag… requiring power… causing torque… blah blah blahbity blah.

Sort of makes you want your old job back, doesn't it?

_YAK-B Gatling Gun:_ Designed and built by the Yakshuev-Borzov design bureau especially for the Mi-24, the YAK-B is a four-barreled, self-powered rotating machine gun, most effectively used against soft and lightly armored targets. With a projectile diameter of 12.7 millimeters, it's similar in size and power to NATO .50 caliber machine guns, but enjoys a faster firing rate than its western counterparts. Capable of holding up to 1,470 rounds, ground crews in practice seldom loaded more than 500 rounds at any one time. This was the limit for continuous firing before heat damage occurred, and after so many instances of watching trigger-happy air crews bring back damaged and destroyed weapons, the ordinance handlers decided to take matters into their own hands. (If you ain't gonna drive safe then hand over the keys, comrade.)

_S-5 Rocket:_ At four-and-a-half feet long and weighing in at only 11 pounds, the S-5 is a small yet deceptively potent weapon. Originally developed by the Soviet Union in the 1950s as part of an air-to-air system for the MiG-19, extensive testing revealed that the weapon did not perform to satisfaction. However, it did show great promise as an unguided air-to-surface weapon, and was accepted into service as such in April of 1955.

A simplistic design, the S-5 is a tube-launched, impact-detonated 55-millimeter diameter rocket with a series of eight stabilizing fins that unfold from the rear of the weapon at launch. Similar to the American Hydra 70 rocket system, the S-5 is compatible with a variety of launchers, allowing as few as four or as many as 32 individual rockets can be carried at one time. A variety of warheads can be fitted to the weapon as well, including armor piercing, high explosive fragmentation, incendiary and smoke load outs.

And so here we stand at the end of another chapter, and another exercise in the age-old truth that what goes up must come down. (Darn that Isaac Newton! Darn him to heck!) Tune in next time when Ron tries to land an oversized food processor and Kim tries really hard not to seriously hurt somebody.

Don't you go a-changin'!

_Nutzkie…_


	12. Hard Landing

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Twelve ~**

He crunched the numbers… And they didn't look good.

Five blades spinning at a velocity of 600 feet per second and decelerating at a constant rate… multiplied against the mass of a 9,000-pound helicopter falling at an accelerating rate… divided against 800 feet of elevation to work with… equaled math he just couldn't do.

_"I've said it before and I'll say it again."_ He thought. _"Math… is… the… ENEMY!"_

But unfortunately such revelations were not of much help to him in this situation. For regardless of what the numbers might have to say about things, he was still 800 feet in the air, at the controls of a crippled helicopter that was quickly loosing both power and altitude, and with only a precious few seconds to react.

It was a gut-check moment if he had ever had one: A do-or-die scenario where far more hung in the balance than just his own sorry, cheese-soaked life. There were four other lives as well, all of them depending on him to make the right decision, and execute that decision flawlessly.

In short, it was exactly what he had been trained for.

A quick glance to the right revealed a small clearing about a half-mile downrange from their current position. The fact that this placed him into the prevailing wind was of some concern, but as a proposition it was still within the realm of "do-able," and at the moment he really didn't have much else in the way of options.

Kicking the Hind's tail around, he pushed the cyclic forward and dropped the nose, sending the chopper into an all-out dash for the clearing. It was a move that cost him more altitude, but he didn't need to stay up for long. If he could just cover the half-mile before the trees reached up to grab them, then everything would all be all right.

He tugged at the collective, accelerating the Hind even more and soon the clearing loomed into view over the treetops. He was almost out of elevation now, a scant ten feet separating him from the trees; but if he could just coax a few more yards out of the old girl…

Instinctively, he released both the collective and cyclic, allowing the main rotor disc to return to its normal plain. The shift in position momentarily increased the craft's lifting efficiency and everyone felt a momentary pause in their rate of descent. Momentum was then quick to take over, carrying the craft forward through the final few yards. And just as the telltale sound of branches scraping on metal filled the Hind's interior, they cleared the tree line and dropped into open space.

Moments later the Hind slammed its belly into the soft dirt and lurched to one side. The blades of the main rotor shattered as they sliced into the earth, sending dust and shrapnel flying in all directions. The impact pitched the fuselage violently in the other direction, sending it careening toward the trees in a counter-clockwise spin. It spun in and sheared off its tail boom on a stout oak before finally coming to rest in an upright position against a weather-worn stump at the clearing's edge.

"Boo-yeah, baby! How do ya like me now, physics?" Ron jubilantly shouted as the dust settled around them. "The Ron-man sticks the landing and the crowd goes wild!"

"That's because we're trying not to throw up." Kim grimaced, fumbling for the release on her safety harness. Locating the catch and popping the buckle, she wasted no time in exiting what she could only consider the world's most dangerous firetrap at the moment.

"Everybody out!" she commanded, rushing to the after compartment and throwing the gull-wing style hatch open. Three coughing and shaken figures responded by stumbling out into the light of day.

"You know, we really need to stop meeting like this." Wally offered with a weak smile, catching Kim off guard. Mirth was not a quality one would expect from the young prince, especially given such dire circumstances.

Leaping down from the upper cockpit, Ron was quick to join them.

"Once again young Ronald, your skills and courage have saved us all." King Wallace observed as he emerged from the wreck, rubbing what appeared to be a bruised shoulder. "We are all forever in your debt."

"Meh. As KP would say, it's 'no big'." Ron shrugged with a dismissive wave.

"I think everyone else here would disagree with that sentiment," Alexia pointed out as she exited the craft behind her uncle, "but I'm afraid we've more pressing issues to deal with at the moment."

"Oh really? Such as?" Kim skeptically inquired.

"Such as that patrol I spotted when we were coming in."

"A patrol? Are you sure?" Kim asked, suddenly very interested in what the duchess had to say.

"It was a lot of men with trucks and guns. I figure that can't be good."

"Trucks and guns." Ron sighed. "Now there're two great tastes that taste great together."

"Where?" Kim demanded.

"About three klicks east by north east from our current location, best I can figure."

_"And she's a recon expert too. Oh joy."_ Kim inwardly groaned. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful for the help. Oh, far from it. It was just that sometimes she found herself wishing that the young royal would find a different use for her particularly extensive skill set…

Like hunting for land mines with a hammer, for instance.

"Do you think there's any chance they didn't see us?" Ron asked as he looked anxiously in the direction Alexia had mentioned.

"Doubtful, Ron." Kim said flatly. "Out in the middle of the wilderness, people tend to notice something like this." She gestured toward the wrecked chopper for emphasis.

"Well then I for one vote that we make ourselves scarce." Wally spoke up, his voice conveying a sense of certainty that no one in the group could recall him ever having before.

"Uhhhh… Yeah. That sounds like a good plan then." Kim stammered. "Let's head north west. Maybe if we put some distance between us and those clowns we can give ourselves a fighting chance."

As the rag-tag group collected themselves and their effects once more and began to move out, Kim couldn't help but shake her head in amazement. There were just some things in this world that even she wasn't ready for, and his Royal Highness Prince Wallace III making good decisions under pressure was certainly near the top of that list. In fact, looking back on everything that had transpired over the past few days, there had clearly been a distinct change in the young prince. And while she couldn't quite put her finger on what that change was precisely, she had to admit that it looked good on him. Perhaps three days of being on the run had somehow taught him that there are things and forces in this life bigger than himself and his own needs.

Perhaps… but she doubted it.

* * *

"Jeez, Louise! You call this coffee?"

"What's that ma'am?"

"This low-grade swill here. You think this is coffee?"

"No ma'am… I think that's my contact lens solution. Your coffee cup is on the counter over there."

"Oh." She winced, peering into the ceramic cup with her one good eye. "Well at least it's not just me then."

_"Figures."_ Betty Director mentally sighed as she walked away in revulsion. With all activity swirling throughout the G.J. command bunker over the past several days, mix-ups such as this were becoming an all-too frequent occurrence. The combination of stress, sleep deprivation and constant activity was starting to have some very real effects on people. Concentration and focus were starting to slip, items were being misplaced and forgotten, interactions were becoming edgier, and errors in judgment such as this were occurring with increasing regularity. She could only hope that this little war of theirs would be wrapped up soon, before somebody really screwed up and slapped a gasoline jug onto the water cooler.

"Excuse me, Doctor Director, ma'am?"

"Not now, Agent Du. Not now." The brunette moaned.

"It's an urgent matter, ma'am."

"Can it wait until after I've induced vomiting?"

"Ma'am?"

"Never mind. What is it?" Betty sighed in resignation, turning to her over-eager underling.

"We just received a field intel report that I think you might want to see."

"Bullet point it for me, Du… One eye doesn't work for me, and I'm pretty sure the clock is ticking on the other one."

"Very well then." William began. "Recon drones sighted one of the enemy's attack helicopters in the vicinity of sector Sierra-Bravo. Video footage indicates that it crashed in that same area."

"That's it? You stopped me in the middle of a medical incident for a chopper crash?" Betty glared at the agent before her. "For your sake, Agent Du, I hope there's more."

"There is, ma'am." Du continued, thoroughly unfazed by the harsh rebuke. "At about the same time, we began intercepting a great deal of radio traffic regarding an incident at one of the enemy's supply depots. From what we've been able to piece together, somebody stole that chopper, destroyed the depot and flew north before being brought down by unknown circumstances."

"Okay, you've got my attention." Betty admitted, now slightly more engaged in the conversation. "So then what's the overall analysis? Do we think we have a defector trying to reach our lines?"

"Either that or someone who was already on our side to begin with."

"Team Possible. Why am I not surprised?" Betty smiled. Her protégé's powers of perception were improving all the time. "Get in touch with our commanders on the ground. I want an armed patrol moving in that direction, stat! Grab and dash!"

"Which brings up the other issue we need to discuss." Du said, unconsciously averting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh for the love of… What now?" Betty pleaded, throwing up her hands in frustration.

"It seems our forces have recently become bogged down in hedgerow country." William informed his commanding officer.

"Hedgerow country?" Betty inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes ma'am. It appears the enemy has taken a page from the playbook of history." Du explained. "With the help of what we assume to be Professor Sylvan Green's instant growth formula, they've managed to create a series of significant roadblocks across our entire line of advance. Just a few well-positioned applications and presto… Instant Bocage."

"The armor can't blast its way through?"

"Negative, ma'am. The soft vegetation just absorbs the impact. Plus the enemy has deployed many of his own armored units within the area. With the concealment of the hedges, our forces could be walking right into the teeth of an ambush without even knowing it."

"I see. Understood then." Betty said, lowering her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. She was so going to need a spa day when this was all over.

"Okay then." She spoke after several seconds of intense thought. "If these knights want to re-fight the battle of Normandy, then we can certainly oblige them."

"I'm afraid I don't follow, ma'am." Du sheepishly admitted.

"The lessons of history run both ways, Will." Betty explained. "Dusty old books might teach you how to mount a defense, but if you read between the lines, they'll also teach you how to overcome that defense."

"I see. So what do you propose then?"

"That we break out of this little trap the same way Bradley broke out of Rommel's trap back in '44."

"Operation Cobra, ma'am?"

"Exactly, Agent Du." Betty smiled. "Get on the horn to Alconbury and have them start prepping the Mighty Eye. I want that bird stripped down and ready for loading within twelve hours. Then have the officer in charge contact the RAF base commander on site and request an ordinance transfer. Full load out… Thousand-pounders… GPS guided."

"Yes ma'am. A full load of GBU-32s it is." Du concurred, feverishly taking down notes.

"Tell them to use authorization code 'Delta Alfa Zulu Five Seven Niner' when making the request. If the lymies give any guff, have them call me directly."

"Yes ma'am."

"The enemy wants to go green? We'll blast their little garden party with enough daisy cutters to deforest Brazil. Let's see them try and re-grow that!"

"Inspired, ma'am."

"Thanks." Betty replied wearily. "Just make sure those fly boys approach the target zone flying _parallel_ to the front lines. We're trying to learn from history here: Not repeat the same mistakes."

"I'll see to it personally, ma'am."

"Very well then. Is there anything else?"

"No ma'am. That's all for the moment."

"Thank goodness!" she sighed in exasperation, turning to walk away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the infirmary before I lose what's left of the sensation in my legs."

* * *

"Sir! I think you might want to come over here and take a look at this!"

Groaning in resignation, General Archibald Emmy reluctantly relinquished the door frame that he had been leaning on for support. Weeks of planning and days of operation were starting to take a physical toll on him, with bags beneath his eyes and a shuffled step paying mute testament to the stress he was under.

"Report, lieutenant." he gruffly commanded. "What's so damn end-all important?"

"See for yourself, sir." The young lieutenant offered, handing the general a briefing report that had just been pulled from a nearby printer. The general scanned it for several moments before returning his piercing gaze to the young officer before him.

"Attacking a marshalling yard with our own chopper?" he huffed. "And less than four miles from where we're currently standing. I'll say one thing about these partisan groups: What they lack in size they make up for in audacity."

"Audacious, yes. But not the partisans." The lieutenant informed his commander, prompting a quizzical look from the superior officer.

"Come again?"

"Eye witnesses report five individuals boarding the craft prior to the attack, and the descriptions all match: An older gentleman with white facial hair, a pair of younger males and a pair of younger females."

For the first time in what seemed like weeks, the General's eyes lit up and his shoulders straightened. It was as if the weight of the world had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders, or he had been given a shot of pure caffeine.

"Son of a gun, we've found them!" he exclaimed. "I want every available resource poured into that sector! We're going to flood the zone! I don't care if you have to pull units off the front lines to do it! We've got those miscreants pinned down and this time we're not going to let them slip away!

* * *

"On the road again… Goin' places that I've never been…"

"Seriously, Ron! Would you give it a rest already?"

"What? I though a little traveling music might be a nice touch."

"And it was… For the first hour! Don't you ever stop for intermission, or whatever?"

"What can I say? I've got the gift of music in me."

"Well then how about indulging us with a few bars of 'The Sound of Silence'?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess I could… Oh… Oh yeah, that's really clever there, KP."

"Eh. I have my moments."

"Well Rufus seems to like it."

At the mention of his name, the small rodent poked his head out of his master's pocket and looked around, his cheeks happily stuffed with the tasty remains of a walnut: One of several he had pilfered from an orchard they had passed through earlier that day. He swallowed, squeaked in acknowledgment, and returned to the important business of stuffing his face.

"Rufus likes pretty much anything as long as there's food to go along with it." Kim pointed out. "That's not exactly saying much."

"Fine… Point taken. I'll be shutting up now."

Kim shrugged with a smile, confident that she had won this round. Over the years they had found that playful little spats like this were a great way to relieve tension when in a tight sitch. And their current circumstances were nothing if not a tight sitch. Moving northwest along the shoulder of a rutted dirt road, they couldn't see the enemy, but somehow they could all sense the enemy's presence all around them. They were in the heart of the lion's den, alone, and relatively unarmed. Only their small size and mobility kept them from being detected and overwhelmed.

With eyes and ears alert to any threat, they pressed on. It was a certainty that enemy troops were actively searching for them, even if those troops didn't know exactly who "they" were. The crash of the Hind had been so obvious that a blind man could have seen it, and the way in which they had left the supply depot would certainly leave the impression that they were something less than friendly to the cause. The proposition that all of that could have slipped under the radar was so beyond the odds that it bordered on ludicrous.

Yes, the sense of danger was almost palpable and it put everyone in the group on edge. But it was the sight that greeted them around the next bend that made their blood run cold.

There, along the edge of the road, the burned out remains of several vehicles stood like grotesque expressionist sculptures, ghastly statements of doom and gloom in a monochromatic hue of rust brown and charcoal gray. And beneath the scorch marks and corrosion, surreal halos of charred ground spread out like the inky shadow of death itself, leaching its way from each destroyed hulk to sap the spirit of the earth itself.

Arranged in a neat row along the road's shoulder, they still showed the disciplined order of a military unit: A unit that was now dead. Although it was difficult to tell through the twisted carnage, at least a handful of the vehicles appeared to have been truck-mounted artillery, while others appeared to have been supply trucks of some sort. Towards the front of the wrecked column, the remains of a command jeep could be seen flipped over in the ditch, stray tendrils of flame still licking mischievously from its exposed belly.

And throughout it all, an eerie silence reigned. Mixed with the twin scents of fire and death, it permeated the surrounding land, banishing even the twittering of songbirds that would ordinarily be expected in such a setting. For Kim Possible, the world-famous teen heroine extraordinaire, it was perhaps the most unnerving thing she had ever seen.

"So whadya think, KP?" Ron suddenly whispered in Kim's ear, causing her to nearly jump right out of her skin.

"Ron! Don't ever scare me like that!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Scare you? I was just asking a question was all." Ron insisted defensively. "You're the one who's gone all 'Jumpy Jenny' all of a sudden."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry." Kim breathed, trying desperately to get her heart started again. "It's just that this place ferociously creeps me out is all."

"Hmmm. Yeah, I can see how that might happen." Ron conceded, looking thoughtfully at the line of destroyed vehicles. "Looks like these guys got caught in the open by an air strike."

"Yeah. No doubt." Kim concurred.

Alerted by the sudden stop in forward progress, Rufus emerged from his pocket home and sniffed the breeze, wrinkling his nose at the foul scent that greeted him.

"Easy, little man. It's pretty gorchy, I know." Ron cajoled his pet. "So you wanna check it out, KP?"

"It's probably best to investigate, yeah." Kim admitted. "You're with me Ron. Everybody else, stay back and stay out of sight."

With their charges safely concealed in the brush along the roadside, the intrepid duo crept forward, ever wary of any surprises that may be lurking within the bombed-out remains. It seemed unlikely that the Rhodighan Knights would booby trap their own casualties on the off chance that an enemy would happen by, but given everything else they'd been through up until that point, they wouldn't put anything past them.

The carnage became even clearer as they got closer to the wreckage. The cab of the first truck had been punched clean through with several pieces of shrapnel, and lines of dried blood could be seen trailing from some of the holes. The next vehicle wasn't even recognizable anymore; it's entire body having been blown away leaving only a twisted frame and a portion of the engine block behind.

"I'd say we know which one of these was the ammo carrier." Ron observed, surveying the devastation.

"What could've done all this?" Kim breathlessly asked. The destruction that now surrounded them was almost beyond comprehension.

Ron responded by quickly scanning the surrounding dirt, and the dozens of small pockmarks told him all that he needed to know.

"Cluster munitions." He stated definitively.

"Those little softball-sized things did all of this?"

"Well it's not the size you've got to worry about, KP. It's the quantity. Figure that you drop a half-dozen or so CBU-58s, and each casing carries more than two hundred of those little suckers… Do the math."

"Brutal."

"They don't call it 'steel rain' for nothing. That's for darn sure."

"So what size guns are these?"

"Hard to say for sure, but offhand I'd say one-oh-fives."

"Works for me. Let's check out up ahead."

And as incredible as it may seem, the further up the column they went, the worse the scenes became. On one of the artillery rigs, the doors had been blown open by the force of the explosion and the charred bodies of the cab's occupants were hanging out both sides, so badly burned that they were now scarcely recognizable as being human. Beneath another truck, a severed arm lay besides the tangled steel belting of a melted tire, with no sign of the former owner being present.

By the time they reached the next to last vehicle, Kim had seen enough, and Rufus had retreated back into Ron's pocket where a series of small retching noises could be heard.

"Well I'm satisfied." She said, fudging the truth a little more than slightly. "What say we (gulp) head back to the others?"

"Really? You're sure you've seen enough?" Ron asked.

"Oh yeah. _So_ sure." Kim assured him. "So let's head back. Like now."

"Sure thing. Whatever you say, KP." Ron conceded. Personally, he suspected that his girlfriend's insistence was based more in her gut than in her mind. The fact that she was even now turning a shade of green that would have made Shego proud was one indication of that fact. But he decided not to press the issue. This was neither the time nor the place for such a confrontation; there would be plenty of time for critiquing such things later on.

Hastily, they returned to the group, and it didn't take long for the questions to begin.

"What happened?"

"Is it a trap?"

"Is everything okay up there?"

"Well there's nothing that looks rigged in any way." Kim queasily informed the group. "But 'okay' is a matter of opinion"

"Huh?"

"She means there's no danger." Ron clarified.

"Then why didn't she just say so?"

"Long story. Moving on."

"Yeah, but moving on to _where?"_

Suddenly, all eyes were on the teenaged heroine, looking for direction and guidance. They needed leadership in this sitch; a level head and a steady hand on the tiller. The one thing they didn't need to see right now was a nervous wreck, or a hunched redhead puking in the tall grass.

"We keep moving in the same direction we were headed." She stated with as much authority as she could muster. She swallowed back against the encroaching bile in her throat and tried to push the gruesome images from her mind. "Except we might want to skip over to the other side of the road… And keep our eyes straight down at the ground while we're at it."

"Huh?" Wally grunted. "But why would we want to…?"

Suddenly, the young prince was interrupted by the sound of a distant rumbling. Coming like a series of dull thuds, it rolled through the trees and carried across the road in waves: Ominous and threatening in its tone.

"Thunder?" Wally perplexedly asked."

"Clear skies." Alexia replied, equally bewildered. All members of the group cast their eyes toward the brilliant blue canopy above them.

"That's not thunder, guys." Ron pointed out, the first pangs of panic quickly spreading across his face. He shared a look with Kim, and they instinctively knew that each had just reached the same conclusion.

"Artillery!" Kim screamed. "Everybody hit the deck!"

Immediately there was a flurry of activity as all five of them threw themselves headlong into the ditch along the roadside. Ron instinctively wrapped his arm around Kim's waist and rolled on top of her, shielding her as best he could with his own body. Rufus, meanwhile, leapt to the ground and proceeded to set a record for digging the world's fastest foxhole, his pink and hairless form quickly becoming obscured within a shower of flying dust and dirt.

Several tense seconds passed as they waited for the first impacts. In this place, time slowed down to an excruciating crawl, each tick of the clock drawing itself out like a rusty blade as they awaited fate's verdict on whether or not their hellish ordeal would ultimately be in vain. And still the interminable silence surrounded them, like a blanket of death that muted the world beyond its boundaries, reducing all else to faint mumblings of reality.

Then, the first shell struck, shaking the earth beneath them with an intensity that none of them had ever experienced before. More shells soon followed, the shockwaves rolling out in rapid succession, launching great fountains of dust and debris into the air to rain down upon the cowering figures below. The blasts seemed to be coming from the trees along the far side of the road, but such a margin was of little comfort. The concussion of each impact threatened to bounce the tiny group right out of the ditch from which they had sought shelter. For nearly a minute the bombardment played itself out: The longest minute that any of them could recall ever experiencing.

When the explosions finally stopped and the earth settled back to its original position, each person in turn slowly lifted their head and took stock of themselves.

"Is everybody all right?" Kim shouted through the billowing clouds of choking dust and cordite smoke. "Sound off if you're hurting!"

"I'm okay!"

"I'm good!"

"Fine here!"

"I'm chauncy, but the candy in my pocket is KIA."

"I think you'll survive, Ron." Kim grimaced. "Now would you mind getting off of me, please and thank you?"

"Oh, right." He said, quickly rolling off of the lithe form below him. "Sorry 'bout that, KP."

"Don't be." Kim said, smiling and taking the offered hand as he helped her to her feet. Deep down she understood exactly the purpose of what he had done. "Moves like that are why I keep you around."

"Really? I thought it was because of my rugged good looks." He goofily grinned.

"Heh. Yeah, that too." Kim grinned in return as Ron inspected his pocket and grimaced himself.

"Darn. And I was saving those too." He muttered dejectedly. "Melts in your mouth, not in your hand my fanny."

He then switched sides and checked his other pocket.

"Wait a sec… Where's Rufus?" he shouted, frantically patting down his entire person. "Hey Rufus! Where are you buddy?"

A responsive squeak brought the attention of the two teens down to where the mole rat had just popped out of his makeshift shelter, half of a discarded walnut shell perched jauntily atop his head like a GI's helmet.

"Whew. Don't ever scare me like that, 'kay little guy?"

The rodent squeaked in agreement and scampered up his owner's leg to reclaim his fabric home.

"So what now?" Ron asked expectantly.

"Now we get the hell away from this road." Kim said definitively. "We're lucky those rounds fell wide, but it's not gonna stay that way for long. Any minute now they're gonna correct fire and hit us again."

"And leaving the road helps us how?" Wally spoke up from the back. "It seems to me that we would make better time by following the road than by leaving it."

"The road is also the most obvious target." Kim was quick to point out. "Odds are they're gonna keep pounding that thing until they realize we're not there anymore, and I'd rather that it not be because we've just been vaporized. Now let's ace this place before they get it zeroed."

Moving off the road and into the trees, the quintet dashed madly through the undergrowth as the distant rumbling of another incoming barrage rang through their ears. This time, however, the shells fell far enough away that there was no need to take cover, and two more successive strikes were even more distant. By the time the group emerged into a small clearing along the edge of a dry streambed, they were beyond exhausted, but alive.

"Man… (pant, pant) Those guys sure know how… (wheeze)… how to make a guy feel welcome around here." Ron gasped.

"Yeah. They've… (gasp)… got a lot to learn about… (gasp)… being neighborly." Kim breathlessly agreed.

"True, but its also great cardio." Ron added with another wheeze. "Whew, I'm feelin' the burn now, baby!"

"Well prepare yourself to feel it even more. Look!" Wally shouted excitedly, pointing to a break in the tree line on the hill above them. Sure enough, through a thin spot in the branches, one could see the outlines of several trucks pulling to a stop and disembarking a large number of men.

"Do you think they know we're here?" Wally nervously asked.

"They ain't here to pick wildflowers." Kim pointed out. "Everybody follow me!"

Turning and running away from the approaching threat, the group followed suit as Kim leapt into the dry wash at the clearing's far edge, taking cover behind its earthen bank.

"How did they get here so fast?" Wally asked, as the rest of the group took up protective positions similar to Kim's.

"Mechanized infantry." Ron observed. "Those boys can really move when they need to."

"Do you think they know where we are?" Alexia was the next to speak up.

"Probably not specifically." Kim postulated. "But it's a cinch they know we're somewhere in the vicinity. They're probably going to form a skirmish line and sweep down the hill in search mode."

"How long until they find us?"

Kim looked starkly at the young duchess. To spite her personal animosity toward the blond woman, she didn't have the heart to lie to her. And besides, given her obvious intelligence, the young royal would have certainly seen right through the deception anyway.

"About four minutes." She flatly said. "Maybe five."

"And I believe that is not the only threat we are currently facing." King Wallace now joined in. "There seems to be some sort of disturbance to our right."

For a brief moment everyone stopped speaking and listened intently. It didn't take but a few seconds to pick up on the King's meaning: A distinct guttural rumble, accompanied by the sounds of squeaky bearings and clanking metal was wafting through the trees, getting closer by the second.

"Incoming armor." Ron observed. He would know that sound anywhere.

In unison, the group expectantly turned their collective attention to the young redhead in their midst. She was billed as the girl who could do anything, having saved the world on countless occasions. And now it was their world that needed saving.

For Kim, it was pressure she didn't need. She could feel the weight of their stares as she sifted through the limited options before her, none of them seeming to offer any clear-cut advantages. They were out maneuvered and out gunned, and the open terrain offered little potential for concealment.

Faced with a sitch in which her own meager resources were insufficient for the task, she made a decision and went to a battle-proven page in her personal playbook…

She called for backup.

For the first time in two days, she raised her wrist and accessed the satellite communication features of her Kimmunicator: An act that did not go unnoticed by her partner.

"Whoa, KP. I thought you said we were going 'silent running' here." Ron observed.

"Yeah, well they already know we're here." Kim pointed out. "So I think that particular ship has sailed already."

Returning her attention to the tiny screen before her, it was several more seconds before the bleary-eyed and somewhat confused image of a pajama-clad Wade appeared once more.

"Do you have any idea what time it is here?" The young genius stammered, groggily rubbing his eyes. "Besides, I thought you guys were running incommunicado this time 'round."

"Explanations later, Wade!" Kim barked, shocking her tech guru into silence. "We've got major trouble here and it's all coming down right on top of us. I need a quick scan and a list of options, stat!"

"Okay, okay! I'm on it!" Wade quickly replied, his sleep-addled mind suddenly snapping to full-alert status. "It may take a few minutes though."

"I don't think we have that long." Kim insisted, the panic in her voice rising.

"Alright, it's coming through now." Wade said, trying hard to keep his own anxiety levels in check. His reaction upon seeing the scan results however, did nothing to help in that department.

"Oh man!" he groaned. "You've got two whole platoons of infantry heading straight for your position and an armored unit fast approaching from the southeast."

"We know that, Wade! Anyway you can get us out of this?"

"I'm working on it, Kim." Wade insisted. "Maybe I can rig a satellite to project some sort of EMP burst to overload their central nervous system, but it'll take time to set everything up."

"We don't have time, Wade!"

"I know! I know!" Wade shouted, grasping his own head in exasperation. "Trust me… I'm working as fast as I can!"

"What about artillery? We just survived a bombardment about fifteen minutes ago. Can you take command of the guns and turn them against the other side?"

"No dice, Kim. I already checked and those are older guns. Everything's manual with them… There're no targeting or ballistic computers for me to hack into."

"What about other batteries?" Alexia jumped into the fray. "Is there anything else nearby that you can hack into?"

"Nothing that's showing up on my scans."

"Okay then, what if we…" Wally began to add. With all of their collective lives hanging in the balance, everyone suddenly felt compelled to join in the debate. All of them except for Ron that is, who unbeknownst to the rest was leaning thoughtfully against the dusty bank of the wash, a smile of inspiration slowly spreading across his face.

"Or maybe we're looking in the wrong direction." He suddenly spoke up, drawing everyone's attention away from the twelve-year-old Webmaster.

"Come again?" Kim asked in confusion.

"Well it seems that we're all looking for some sort of fire support from the east." He pointed out. "When maybe the answer lies to the west."

"But… but there's nothing out there but open ocean." Wally pointed out.

"Exactly." Ron grinned, reaching over to take hold of Kim's wrist and place is own face within view of the Kimmunicator. "Wade! Can you rig this thing to broadcast on a general UHF frequency?"

"With my eyes closed." Wade confirmed, fingers already racing across the keyboards before him. "What do you have in mind?"

"Just put us through on a frequency of four seven eight point seven eight five… Voice only. We'll handle it from there."

"You got it." Wade said as he punched the stated settings into his machines. "I hope you know what you're doing though."

"That makes two of us, old buddy."

"Okay. You're on the air." He confirmed. "Good luck guys."

Without another word Ron cleared his throat and pulled the Kimmunicator closer to his mouth.

"This is Mad Dog One calling any allied vessel in sector Calypso Three! Requesting immediate fire support! Situation urgent! Over!"

For several excruciating and interminable seconds, only the crackle of static could be heard over the open channel. He frantically repeated the message, netting similar results. Then, just when all hope seemed lost, a faint voice came through the distortion of static and interference…

"Copy that Mad Dog One. Please present authorization code at this time."

"Authorization check kilo papa romeo sierra zero eight delta zulu bravo. Confirm!"

"Roger that, Mad Dog One… Authorization confirmed. What can we do you for?"

"I need fire support and I need it now!" Ron barked into the tiny microphone. The sounds of advancing enemy were growing louder now, leaving no doubt as to the nature of their position. "Target grid coordinates echo yankee by two seven niner! Danger close! Fire one for effect! Over!" he screamed above the din of approaching battle.

They were officially out of time.

* * *

Twenty miles away, beyond the western horizon, a great leviathan cruised smoothly and silently along the surface of a turquoise sea. Separated from her seagoing comrades, she had been stealthily patrolling these waters for nearly a week, tracing out a large oval amongst the waves as she scanned for danger, her electronic eyes and ears ever vigilant to any threat that may come calling.

At more than 900 feet in length and boasting some of the heaviest naval armaments ever developed, the T.E.S. Boreaus was both sentry and deterrent rolled into one. Her sophisticated radar, sonar and infrared sensors could detect any threat on, above or below the surface, at ranges of up to more than 300 miles. Torpedoes, missiles, and a variety of guns could strike down such treats with virtual impunity, providing ample protection for those less-capable vessels that surrounded her.

Such was the purpose for which this floating fortress was built, and such was the task now assigned to her. Patrolling the waters to the west of the Isle of Rhodighan, she secured the western flank of the invasion fleet, creating a formidable buffer zone for potential retaliation against the international efforts now taking place upon its shores.

But now, with the receipt of a single, brief radio call, the mission had changed drastically. Sailors scrambled across her teak decks as klaxons wailed throughout the labyrinth of corridors and massive superstructure. Men scurried up stairways, down ladders, secured loose equipment to the deck and ducked into open hatchways as verbal warnings were broadcast out across the waves.

"NOW HEAR THIS! NOW HEAR THIS! CLEAR ALL DECKS AND SECURE ALL HATCHES! EVACUATE ALL EXTERIOR SPACES IMEDIATELY! PREPARE FOR MAIN BATTERY OPERATIONS!"

With the whoop of another siren, four gargantuan turrets began to turn, swinging their massive guns out over the railing and toward the distant shore. Meanwhile, the interior of the steel casemates surged to life as the automatic loading system activated. Elevators and conveyors spooled up, lifting 2,500-pound shells up from the bowels of the ship while gangways dropped into place so that hydraulic rams could shove the massive projectiles into the waiting breeches of the guns. Cylindrical powder satchels were quickly rammed home behind them and robotic arms carefully fitted percussion caps to the back end of the assembly before the heavy breech doors swung closed and were locked into place.

On the second turret, one of the guns suddenly reared upward like a serpent preparing to strike. Its 20-inch muzzle climbed toward the clouds until it finally stopped at a point 30 degrees above the horizon and briefly wobbled before settling into place.

From the outside, the great ship now seemed abandoned, not a solitary soul to be seen across its expansive decks. With its mighty guns aimed and its crew safely ensconced inside its cavernous hull, this mighty titan of the sea was ready to unleash its unparalleled furry upon the land.

"Copy that, Mad Dog One. Confirm target echo yankee by two seven niner." The call went out over the airwaves. "Stand by… One on the way."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well it ain't the Love Boat… but it'll do.

And so our team is about to discover exactly what those big tubes on the battlewagons were built for. They ain't for the human cannonball act, kiddies… That's for darn sure. And as anyone who's ever seen one of these vessels in full broadside can attest to, when it comes to putting steel on target, there ain't nothing in the world quite like it.

Now before we go any deeper into the notes here, I'd like to beg everyone's indulgence and take a moment to backtrack a bit.

Back in Chapter Ten, there was a thinly veiled reference to a classic 1980s comedic film that nearly everyone seemed to overlook. Mucho kudos and a great big cigar to Osprey2000 for being the only person to notice that the exchange between Kim, Wally and the hand grenade was closely inspired by a scene involving Chevy Chase and Dan Akroyd in the film "Spies Like Us." Way to stay sharp, my friend.

And furthermore, this chapter offers us our second meeting with Rhodighan's current military commander, General Archibald Nathaniel Emmy. Now I realize that it's an obscure reference to be sure, but in the true spirit of the whimsy that is the Kim Possible universe, the General's name is actually a cleverly concealed play on words. (Well, at least I think it's clever.) Take a crack at it and see if you can figure it out.

And now for our regularly scheduled jargon-fest!

_Klick:_ One of the more colorful terms in modern military lexicon, a "klick" is a unit of linear measurement denoting 1,000 meters, or one kilometer. (Approximately 0.62 miles.) Although opinions vary on the origin of this term, one of the most widely accepted theories has its basis in the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam.

During the conflict there in the 1960s and 70s, Australian soldiers needed a way to keep track of the distances they traveled when navigating cross country. Now being from a nation where the metric system is firmly established, the basis for all their calculations was naturally the meter, and the Australian Military Handbook clearly stated that under a regulation marching stride, 110 paces would carry a soldier a distance of 100 meters. (Adding or subtracting ten paces would compensate for marching uphill or downhill respectively.)

It was an effective system, but one still needed to keep track of the overall distance traveled during a march. Therefore, units in the field took to assigning one of their members as a designated "counter" when marching. It was the job of this man to keep track of distance through an innovative use of the standard Australian L1A1 gas activated infantry rifle. Soldiers in the field quickly learned that by advancing the rifle's gas regulator valve one notch for every 100 meters traveled; they could keep an accurate accounting of how far they had marched. Once the valve had been advanced ten notches, (indicating that a full kilometer had been traversed), the "counter" would alert his commander with a hand signal, then raise his rifle above his head and reset the valve, producing an audible "click": The origin of the term.

_The Mighty Eye:_ This is a reference back to Chapter Thirteen of my ongoing story "Summertime Blues." For those of you who may not recall, the "Mighty Eye" is a nickname for "Illuminati One": A heavily modified Boeing B-52/D Stratofortress that Global Justice converted into a flying electronic and photographic reconnaissance platform. For the purposes of the current mission however, the old girl is returning to her roots. Stripped of all the high-tech supercomputers and sensor arrays that made her an all-seeing all-knowing sentinel of justice, she will once again be flying over enemy territory, raining death and destruction onto the world below.

_Hedgerows and Normandy:_ One of the more spectacular miscalculations of the Second World War, hedgerows are innocuous sounding objects that line the roadsides of the Normandy region, and nearly sank the entire allied invasion of Europe.

First observed by allied planers in aerial reconnaissance photographs taken prior to the invasion, these so-called intelligence experts assumed that the greenery they were seeing was no different that the hedges separating one yard from another in any American town.

But in reality, the Normandy hedges were far more substantial than that. Rising more than ten feet tall in some areas, they had begun back in medieval times when the countryside of northern France was first cultivated. Farmers clearing their land for planting would take whatever stones and stumps they removed and pile them up along the boundaries of their property, forming a series of makeshift walls. Over the ensuing centuries native vegetation sunk its roots into these cobbled ramparts, intertwining itself with decades of debris and previous growth until a thick and gnarled wall was formed, stout enough for a man to walk along the top of. They were too thick for tanks to punch through, and their semi-solid nature meant that artillery and high explosives had little effect.

It was a fact that did not go unnoticed by the German high command following their conquest of France in 1940. Under the command of legendary Fieldmarshall Erwin "the Desert Fox" Rommel, German forces set about fortifying the so-called "Bocage" region with armor, artillery and other heavy equipment. By the time of the allied invasion in June of 1944, the fields of the Bocage had been converted into a series of mini fortresses, concealing everything from tanks and artillery to mortars, heavy machine guns and fortified infantry positions. The narrow roads of the region quickly became avenues of death: Every hedge and every corner a potential ambush.

With casualties mounting and progress slowed to a crawl, the allies knew that a plan to break out from their Normandy beachheads was essential. Many ideas were floated, but the winner ultimately came from General Omar Bradley in the form of a plan he titled "Operation Cobra."

The plan was simplicity itself, effectively taking the blitzkrieg tactics used so brilliantly by the Germans early in the war and turning them against their former masters. Relying on the air superiority enjoyed by the Allies at that point, Bradley would send wave upon wave of heavy bombers against the German lines, dropping tons of high explosive into a concentrated area, effectively blasting a gaping hole through their defenses. Following this bombardment of "shock-and-awe" proportions, armored units of the American First Army would advance en masse, quickly overwhelming the dazed and decimated German defenders. With their lines overrun and their forces in retreat, the Germans would be forced to fall back and form new defensive lines further inland. It was not a plan that would end the war, but it would get the allies out of the Bocage and into open country where the odds would be better.

The plan went into effect on the morning of July 25th, coordinating with simultaneous attacks by British and Canadian forces near the city of Caen to keep the German command structure confused regarding the allies true objectives. Sadly, miscommunication between the Army and Air Forces led the bombers to approach from the north, flying perpendicular to the front lines, rather than from the west, flying parallel. This meant that while the first wave of aircraft struck their targets accurately, subsequent waves found their targets obscured by massive clouds of smoke and dust stirred up by their predecessors. Unable to visually identify their targets, some bombardiers became confused and dropped their payloads too early… still over allied territory. As a result, more than 500 American troops were killed that day due to friendly fire.

But while tragic, such errors did little to slow the overall progress of the plan. Advancing past ranks of dazed Germans who were coming forward to surrender, many of them bleeding from shattered ear drums, the Americans pushed forward through the gap left by the bombardment and soon advanced into the Brittany region to begin rolling up the German flanks. An aggressive sweeping maneuver by General George Patton's Third Army pushed south and east, then turned back upon itself to link up with Bradley's forces at the town of Falaise, effectively encircling the bulk of the German Fifth and Seventh Panzer Armies. The "Falaise Pocket" as it came to be known quickly became a virtual shooting gallery for allied aircraft and artillery, resulting in the annihilation of nearly all German units west of the River Seine and opening the road to Paris… and the German border beyond.

Oh, and not that it really means anything or whatnot, but with this chapter I officially surpass 400,000 words archived on this site. (Dang! I seriously need to get a life!)

And finally, although I've said it many times before, it still bears repeating: Special thanks to site member Hang Tuah for serving as my beta on this chapter, as well as providing the creative inspiration for much of what transpired here. This is every bit as much his story as it is mine. Kudos, dude!

And so, we find ourselves yet again at the end of a chapter, the lives of our heroes hanging in the balance and the outcome very much up in the air. Expect the unexpected when Chapter Thirteen hit newsstands next month.

Best wishes and take care!

_Nutzkie…_


	13. Thunder From the Sea

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Thirteen ~**

It was the waiting around that killed him…

Throughout history, many a soldier had observed that combat is perhaps best described as extended periods of boredom punctuated by brief moments of extreme terror. This was a idea that held true through the ages, being just as valid today as it was when Hannibal's elephants crossed the Alps or Rommel's panzers raced across the sands of North Africa.

And it held true within the current circumstances as well, with the first portion of the statement being applicable at the moment.

With a swig from his canteen he slouched his shoulders and heaved a sigh of utter boredom. The light tank he was currently sitting atop hadn't moved in over 24 hours and he was starting to wonder if it ever would. This was not what he had been expecting when their unit had first deployed

"Hey Moriarty! How long 'till the heavy gets here?"

"About five more minutes, chief!" a voice echoed up from within the tank's steel hull. "Same as it was a half-hour ago!"

He grunted indignantly as he wiped beads of perspiration from his substantial beard. Whomever invented the term "military efficiency" he thought, desperately needed to have his head examined.

And whoever coined the term "military intelligence" should be sitting right beside him in the psychiatrist's waiting room. For if the previous day's events had proven nothing else, it was that even the best military planners can occasionally misjudge a situation by devastating margins of error.

The operation had been going according to plan up until that point. Perhaps better than planned, he might even dare to venture. They were driving along at a steady clip, the lead unit in an armored column tasked with clearing one of the main roads leading to the capitol city. Resistance had been sporadic with the majority of the enemy force adopting "shoot and scoot" tactics that amounted to little more than an annoyance to his men. There had also been pockets of determined defense, dug in and well prepared for a fight, but these had been few and far between.

But it had all taken a turn for the worst the previous morning. For that was when they had encountered something both unusual and unexpected: Something that didn't appear on any of their maps.

At first they had been thoroughly perplexed by the massive wall of green that confronted them. Stretching for as far as one could see in either direction, it formed an unbroken barrier that cut through fields and across roads, effectively isolating one side of the island from the other. Ramming it proved an ineffective tactic for achieving entry, and heavy weapons didn't fare much better. As barriers went, it was as solid as they come: An impenetrable wall of flora and foliage that brought their steady advance to a grinding halt.

And then came the counter-attack…

Concealed within the gnarled mass of vegetation, armor and infantry units unleashed a torrent of fire. Armor, artillery and troops with heavy machine guns and anti-tank weapons attacked simultaneously along the entire length of the sector. The low-slung tank destroyers had proved especially effective with their sloped frontal armor easily shrugging off the 100-millimeter shells of their own Soviet-built light tanks. Meanwhile, the 125-millimeter guns of the turretless monsters had little trouble penetrating the Russian armor plating.

Caught off guard and without cover, the Global Justice troops had fallen back in disarray. His own unit had lost four tanks in the melee, and a fifth had to be abandoned when it became stuck in a ditch and proved unable to extricate itself. Furthermore, a dozen of his men were either dead, wounded or missing. They had been forced back more than a mile when the enemy fire finally died down and they were able to stop and count their losses. Even by the terrible standards of modern warfare, it had not been a good day.

But his reminiscence was soon distracted however, as the young corporal below him poked his head up out of a nearby hatch.

"Say Oddball," he asked, "just how are we gonna know when this thing hits?"

"That's a good question, Corporal." The scruffy tank commander admitted. "Let's ask our resident expert on mathematical probabilities. Hey Crapgame! What's the current line on the first thing we're gonna notice here?"

"Why? What the heck do I look like to you anyway? A bookie?" a short, balding man with a coarse voice barked, stepping out from behind the tank.

"Do you really want me to answer that question?"

"Naaahhhh, why I oughta…" he groused. "Offhand, I'd say it's even money between the giant rolling fireball and the sudden shift in the Richter scale."

"What about the sound of the bombs actually falling?" the corporal inquired.

"Three to two and pick 'em. Are we done here?"

"Oh, c'mon! Be one of the boys for once." The bearded officer grinned in his typically mischievous way. "We're just about to discuss anti-social tendencies in bald people. You're our scheduled guest speaker."

"Stick it in your ear, ya hockey puck!" he snapped, turning and disappearing behind the tank once more.

"Yeah, definitely the anti-social type." Oddball sighed. "So much negativity… Always going on with those negative waves."

"I heard that!" Crapgame angrily shouted.

"Sir, the heavy just called in." Moriarty spoke up. "Mighty Eye just passed the I.P. She's starting her run."

"Finally… Heavens be praised." Oddball remarked, shifting his position atop the tank's armored turret. "Grab some popcorn and a good seat, boys. The greatest show on earth is officially in the building!"

Rising to his feet, he stood atop the turret and placed a pair of binoculars to his face. Being a veteran of the First Gulf War, he knew from previous experience what was coming, and he wasn't about to miss the spectacle.

Somehow, no matter how hard he tried; he just couldn't imagine anything with the raw destructive power of a Stratofortress in full carpet-bombing mode.

* * *

"INCOMING!"

As the five members of the group pressed themselves into the dirt, the air above them was torn open by a high-pitched scream. Half an instant later, the equivalent of a small volcano erupted several hundred yards away, sending a geyser of scorched earth and shattered trees rocketing into the air. This cloud of debris exploded outward in a graceful arc and returned to earth, blanketing the surrounding area and nearly burying the occupants of the nearby streambed.

"Jeez! What are they doing? Shooting jeeps at us?" Kim coughed through the choking dust.

"If we're talking pure physics, then yeah. That's pretty much it." Ron replied, brushing dirt out of his hair. He chanced a quick peek over the lip of the wash and ducked back down. He had seen what he needed to see and he knew what to do next.

"Alert fire control. Confirm, target destroyed." He spoke into the Kimmunicator once more. "Correct fire. New coordinates, echo yankee by two eight zero. Spread, five hundred yards. Full barrage. Repeat… full… barrage."

"Ron! Just what in the bloody heck do you think you're doing?" Kim nervously hissed.

"That last round took out their advance units," Ron informed her, "but Wade's scans showed a heckuva lot more moving up behind them. If we're gonna make it outa here in one piece then we need to ice everything the tin heads want to throw at us."

"And how about getting ourselves killed in the process?" she snapped. After experiencing the power of a single shell, she didn't even want to think about what cowering under a full salvo would be like.

"Don't worry, KP." Ron reassured her. "I moved the aiming point up a quarter-mile and these guys are the best at what they do. Trust me… They can drop those things into a swimming pool from thirty miles out… And not even mess up the patio furniture."

"Are you willing to bet your life on that?"

"Strangely enough, Yeah. I am."

Somehow, hearing her boyfriend say those words gave her own confidence a much-needed boost.

"Okay, I trust you then." She conceded. "So what do we do now?"

"I'd say hitting the deck would be in order."

"Good call." Kim agreed, and both teens threw themselves into the dirt once more: Ron hoping that his confidence was more than just an idle boast, and Kim wondering what she wouldn't give to be off somewhere else dealing with Drakken's latest hare-brained scheme. Quietly, she found herself pondering what exactly the blue megalomaniac and his green assistant were up to at that moment.

* * *

"DRAKKEN!"

At the sound of his shouted name, the blue-hued scientist cringed and nearly dropped the beaker he was working with. It was a cry he had heard countless times before, and whenever it came, bad things invariably followed.

"Yes Shego?" he half sighed and half whimpered, stealing a glance down from the raised dais where his makeshift laboratory was positioned.

"What in the name of holy hand grenades is this?" the green-themed thief shouted, gesturing to the expansive piece of adhesive-coated paper that now covered the main room of the lair like sticky wall-to-wall carpeting. It was the same material that the sole of her boot was currently stuck to.

"Oh that? That's a piece of giant flypaper." Drakken shrugged, nonchalantly turning back to his work.

_"Oy! I just know I'm going to regret asking this, and yet somehow I can't resist…"_ Shego silently pondered. "Okay Doc, I'll bite. Exactly why do we have a giant piece of flypaper in the great room?"

"To catch a giant fly of course. Duh!" The doctor replied.

_"Called it!"_ She inwardly sighed before her mind skipped ahead to the next logical question. "And why do we need to catch a giant fly?"

"Because the giant moth didn't work out."

_"Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer…_ You created a giant moth?"

"Don't ask and don't look in your wool closet."

"Nrrrrrrrrrgh!"

"Calm down, Shego! I'll replace everything. Trust me." Drakken pleaded, raising his hands defensively. He knew that standing between a woman and her wardrobe was a dangerous position under any circumstances, but when the woman in question had comet-fueled plasma powers and an ornery disposition even on a good day… Well, let's just say there wasn't a health plan in the world with enough coverage to fix the results of that encounter.

"You'd better." Shego growled, ripping her boot free with a final tug and half-limping away down an adjacent corridor. "But if I hear that word's gotten out about my novelty sweater collection, then I swear I'll…"

"Mum's the word, Shego. Mum's the word."

The good doctor looked on with worry as his erstwhile assistant stalked angrily down the corridor and disappeared from view: A gesture that did not go unnoticed by the assisting henchman who had stepped up beside him.

"So you gonna tell her about the giant frog or what?"

"Shhhhhhhhhh!" Drakken excitedly hissed.

* * *

Meanwhile, twenty miles off the coast of a small Mediterranean island, one of the most spectacular scenes in modern warfare was playing itself out. Sixteen guns lifted their muzzles to the eastern horizon, their 20-inch-wide maws catching just enough sunlight to cast shimmering reflections down the length of their spiral rifling grooves. Like the tentacles of the great sea monsters of yore, they sat silently by, poised and ready to strike: Ready to unleash their unimaginable furry upon a distant shore.

And then with a roar that seemed to tear the sea wide open, the beast was unleashed. Twelve thousand pounds of highly refined gunpowder ignited in unison, thrusting a wall of white-hot flame across the waves. Beneath the mammoth broadside the ocean receded away, creating bowl-like depressions in the water's surface. The entirety of the ship shuddered and rocked as the gargantuan blast displaced its massive bulk five feet in the opposite direction, its multi-tiered superstructure left to sway back and forth like a giant metronome as it settled into it's new position.

And then the sea was silent once more. Faint puffs of smoke emanated anticlimactically from each gun as bursts of compressed air cleansed the barrels of residual embers, but the only sign of the cataclysmic blast were the billowing clouds of light gray haze that drifted lazily across the wave tops. Soon, even those dissipated upon the breeze, and there was nothing left to tell of the titanic forces that had just been unleashed.

That is, until the autoloaders swung into action once more…

* * *

This was just getting ridiculous.

By this point Ron had called in three successive salvos and Kim was nearing her wit's end. With each call there would be an unearthly lull, then a sky-splitting scream, and the very earth beneath them would be torn asunder by the gargantuan force of the bombardment. Although Ron was skillfully walking each strike back a few hundred yards to inflict maximum damage, it still felt as though the whole world was exploding around them and the assault on her senses was fast reaching the point of complete and total overload. She was ready to start screaming hysterically, and for someone as typically cool under pressure as her self, that was saying something.

So when Ron peeked above the lip of their concealment and reached for her wrist once more, she put her foot down.

"That's enough!" she hissed, pulling her hand back forcefully.

"Seriously Kim, you don't know what you're dealing with." Ron insisted, reaching for the Kimmunicator once again. Kim was having nothing of it however, pulling back once again and cradling the device, and the appendage it was attached to, protectively against her now heaving chest.

"No Ron. Please… no." she whimpered. "I don't… I don't think I can take any more of that." She silently gave thanks that the overwhelming bombardment had probably stifled the hearing of their charges to a point where they wouldn't notice her panicked tone. Truth be told, her own ears were currently ringing louder than Notre Dame on a Sunday morning, and she suspected that if she asked Ron, he would admit to just as much.

But for the moment his expression softened, and a reassuring hand found its way to her shoulder.

"It's okay, KP." He said. "I was just going to call a cease fire. I think we got them all."

"Really?" she perked up, hope suddenly returning to her voice. "Let me see." She started to climb up the shallow embankment when a restraining hand from behind halted her progress.

"Trust me, KP." Ron said, his facial features ashen and concerned. "You _really_ don't want to see what's up there."

Kim knew enough about her boyfriend's mannerisms to take the hint. If Ron was that adamant about shielding her, then there must be some wicked gorchyness going on beyond that bluff.

"What I can't figure is where all these guys came from." He pondered aloud, casting a fleeting glance at the nearby carnage before ducking back behind the cover of the earthen bank. "I mean, sure, we're in enemy territory and all that, but coordinating that kind of attack doesn't just happen by itself. It takes intel, communications, logistics for cryin' out loud!"

"Well they did see us come down." Alexia offered.

"That still doesn't explain how they were able to organize so effectively." Ron countered, slouching down to prop his chin on his arms and his arms on his knees. "That was a highly coordinated, multi-pronged assault we just beat back. It takes some serious command and control to pull one of those off."

"Perhaps if the command facility was located close by? Would that have an effect?" King Wallace offered in his typically well-mannered and formal tone.

"Probably." Ron conceded. "But I didn't see any fortified compounds or command post-looking facilities when we were coming down. Anybody else catch anything?"

"Why don't you ask our resident expert?" Kim grumbled, more to herself than to Ron. "She seems to be on top of these things."

"Excuse me?" Alexia asked, honestly surprised by the off-the-cuff barb.

"Oh c'mon." Kim sneered. "You were obvious enough spotting that patrol that the rest of us missed, but after that display of aerial gunnery back there, I'd think you'll be consulting for the Pentagon by the end of the week."

"Pfft! Don't look at me." Alexia scoffed. "You wanna know about that, talk to Rambo over here." She thrust a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the young royal who was now sitting on a large stone drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick.

"Whaaaaaaaaat?" he whined when he noticed everyone's slack-jawed expressions.

"You?" Kim gawked. As hard as she might try, she simply couldn't reconcile her experiences of the young prince with the image of him going crazy in such an overtly aggressive way.

"Is it really so hard to believe that I might take a stand in a bad situation?" Wally mockingly asked.

"Pssh, yeah!" Ron offered. "In fact I'd say impossible is a better term."

"Well then that just shows how little you know about me." Wally huffed, turning his nose upward and returning his attention to his earthen sketches.

"Huh. I guess it's really true then." Ron shrugged. "It's the quiet ones you've gotta watch out for."

"Oh-kaaaaaaaay… Back to business here, then." Kim said, drawing everyone back to the previous conversation.

"Quite right." The king agreed. "So as I was saying, might it matter if the point of enemy command was in close proximity to the area of battle?"

"And as I was saying, probably so." Ron jumped in. "Shorter distances means faster communications, quicker response times, a better overall picture of the battle, etcetera, etcetera, but there's no place near here where those dudes could be holed up."

"And in that assumption, young man, you would be mistaken."

"Beg pardon?"

"You see, young Ronald, there is a well-kept secret within this kingdom." Wallace explained. "A few years ago now, we appropriated funds for the construction of a highly sophisticated and highly classified fortification. It was to be our stronghold: A place of safety from which to lead our people and organize a response in the event of any national emergency. Think of it as the twenty-first century equivalent of the castle keeps of old."

"Yeah, and how well is that working out for you right now?"

"Admittedly, our best laid plans have not come to fruition." The king sighed in resignation. "The swiftness with which our enemies moved precluded us from fleeing to our underground redoubt. In hindsight, a different strategy would have been advisable."

"Don't beat yourself up too badly, your majesty." Kim offered, offering the aging monarch a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Nobody can know what the future holds. Now you were saying this facility was someplace close by?"

"Indeed." The king concurred. "The location is approximately two miles east of where we sit, buried within a mountainside beneath the village of Montagne ́Ecouter."

"But Uncle Wallace? If it was so secret, then how would the Knights have known where to find it?" Alexia asked inquisitively.

"Good question." Kim admitted. "Exactly who else would have known about this hideout?"

"Well there is myself, obviously." The king answered. "Then there would be the Minister of Defense, our Chief of the Army General Desfunctscion, and his second in command General Specific. But I know these men and I know their loyalty to me. They would never divulge such sensitive information to our enemies. Even under threat of torture or death."

"Fair enough. Anyone else?" Kim prodded.

"Well there was the contractor of course. But we hired a highly reputable company and insisted that they sign a strict confidentiality agreement before we informed them of any details."

"I see." Kim pondered, looking down at the ground thoughtfully. "But still, third parties like that are often the weak link in the informational chain. Hang on a sec while I check something." She reached down and keyed the Kimmunicator, bringing up the yawning image of her trusted advisor on all things technical.

"What now?" Wade impatiently asked.

"Yeah. Sorry to wake you up again," Kim apologized, "but we've got a sitch brewing here. Can you run a corporate background check?"

"In my sleep," Wade replied, "which of course is usually just an expression."

"Spankin'! I need everything you can dig up on a company called… uhhh… Your majesty?"

"Geo-Trans, as I recall."

"Geo-Trans." Kim relayed to Wade. "Articles of incorporation, financial reports, their board of directors, anything you've got we'll take."

"Okay, I'm running the search now." Wade said, diligently scanning his monitors. "For the most part they look like a solid company: More than a decade in the business, sound financials, a track record of managing large projects. Although here's something weird: Last summer they were unexpectedly bought out by another firm. The offer was totally out of the blue, but the bid was excellent so the shareholders jumped at the chance to sell."

"I see. And just who exactly was the deep-pocketed investor?" Kim inquired.

"Looks like it's a investment firm in Sweden called Scandia Capital Limited. But here's where things get weird."

"Great. How weird?"

"Well on the surface it all looks legit, but when you dig a little deeper, Scandia Capital shows all the hallmarks of being a shell corporation. You can try following the money back to the source, but it's all routed along several paths through multiple countries."

"Sounds like somebody has something to hide."

"You got that right, Kim. It's a complicated ball of yarn to unravel, but it looks like all roads lead to a bank in Zurich."

"Great. A Swiss bank account." Ron groaned. "Well it was a nice try anyway, ol' buddy."

"Try not to forget who you're dealing with, Ron." Wade responded, looking more than a little hurt by Ron's lack of confidence in his abilities. His chubby fingers flew across his keyboards as he continued his search. "I was hacking into so-called secure servers at the age of six. I think I can handle a few confidential banking laws. Oh hey, look at that! We're in!" With a smug smile he tapped the enter key and brought up a new page of complex numbers and labels.

"All righty then." He said, browsing the screen carefully. "When you trace back along all the funding streams, they funnel into one account registered to a holding company called the Atlas Group. Atlas looks to be the primary source of venture capital for several different firms, but they aren't independent themselves. From their corporate ownership records, it looks as though they're a wholly-owned subsidiary of a company called Rhodighan Industries."

"Jackpot!" Kim cried out. "That's exactly what we were looking for! I know it goes without saying, Wade… But you continue to rock!"

"Can I go back to bed now?" the young teen yawned.

"Uh, yeah. Sweet dreams and all that." Kim offered as she closed the connection. She then turned back to address the group with a look of supreme confidence.

"That's how they knew about your little hidey-hole!" She firmly stated. "They bought the company that built it and probably made copies of all the records. Going into this operation they would have known everything… Right down to the size of light bulbs you used. They tried to hide it by using front companies and secret bank accounts, but you can't hide anything from the Wade!"

"Badical! Then all we have to do is call down the thunder on the place and we'll take out their entire chain of command!" Ron enthused. Leaping to his feet he scrambled up the bluff once more, plucking his binoculars from their case and nearly knocking Rufus off of his shoulder in the process.

"Ron! Wait!" Kim shouted, chasing after her boyfriend as he crested the lip of the gully. She was about to give him a sound tongue lashing when the words caught in her throat.

It was clear why he had wanted her not to see what lay beyond the gully: A scene that only minutes before had been a pastoral landscape of wooded grasslands was now a hellish moonscape. Craters the size of small houses scarred a landscape that had been stripped of nearly all vegetation. Charred stumps of shattered trees jutted from the barren earth like jagged teeth while the destroyed hulks of tanks could be seen to one side, their massive steel hulls splayed open like giant sardine tins to reveal the raging infernos that now burned within them. Here and there, human remains could be seen… or at least she assumed they were human. In all honesty, they looked like little more than rancid piles of butchered meat. Nothing was recognizable anymore.

Her vision swam and her knees grew weak as a wave of nausea swept over her. Fighting back against a nearly uncontrollable urge to vomit, she quickly decided that it simply wasn't worth the effort and dropped to her knees, forfeiting the contents of her stomach into a nearby shell hole.

The sound of retching behind him quickly drew his attention, and in an instant Ron was at her side, holding her long red hair away from her face as she shuddered and convulsed.

"I told you not to look." He grinned after the worst of it had passed.

"Plenty of time to play 'I told you so' later." Kim insisted. "Right now you need to think about what the heck you're doing."

"Come again?"

"There's a village sitting on top of that thing Ron! Use your head!" She admonished him, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "If you start dropping shells indiscriminately you're going to kill a lot of innocent people. We need to come up with a better plan."

Standing up, Ron placed his binoculars to his face and looked east. With the forest now gone, he could easily see the hillside, which the king had assured them concealed the fortified stronghold. And sure enough, perched on the cliff above was an idyllic community of whitewashed buildings and tile roofs. Built on a series of terraces it clung precariously to the mountainside, its very existence defying the laws of gravity. It didn't take much imagination to see the collateral damage a full-blown barrage would cause.

"Ho-kaaaaaaay… New plan then." Ron sighed, turning and heading back toward the gully to rejoin the group. He helped Kim to her feet along the way and they both re-took their concealed positions together.

"So you've got an idea then?" Kim asked hopefully, reaching for her canteen to rinse the foul taste of bile and stomach acid from her mouth.

"Maybe." Ron enigmatically replied, reaching for the Kimmunicator once more.

"Mad Dog One calling Prometheus… Mad Dog One calling Prometheus." He repeated into the tiny device. "Yo, fire control! You got your ears on out there?" He paused, waiting for a reply.

_"Pa-tooey!_ So how was it that you were able to take that hell-scape back there and I was calling Ralph on the porcelain phone?" Kim asked as she resealed her canteen and replaced it in its pouch on her utility belt.

"Honestly, my stomach was doing more flips than a trapeze artist the whole time." Ron admitted with a look of contrite embarrassment. "But after a lifetime of gorging on Tex-Mex take out, I guess the ol' gut can take just about anything." He patted his flat belly for emphasis.

"That's because it's probably been pickled by now." Kim theorized with a smirk.

"Prometheus One here. State your business, Mad Dog." The reply crackled over the open com link, startling both teens.

"Yeah, I've got a special fire mission if you're feeling up to it." Ron quickly responded. "We need you guys to thread the needle. Kinetic strike. Coordinates echo yankee by two eight two. Danger close. One for effect."

"Roger that. Copy target spike, echo yankee by two eight two. Confirm?"

"Roger copy… and be careful dude. We've got civilians in the vicinity."

"Understood, Mad Dog. We'll put this one right in the pickle barrel." The controller answered with confidence. "Special delivery on the way. Stand by for the package."

* * *

"Sir! We've lost contact with all ground units in sector Tango Five! The local O.P. is reporting a lull in the enemy shelling!"

"That doesn't mean it won't start up again in the next thirty seconds." General Emmy fumed. His prey was so close that he could practically smell them: Only two miles away from where he now stood. He had assumed that things were well in hand; a simple swoop-and-grab operation being more than sufficient to retrieve the runaway royals and dispatch the meddlesome teens that had snatched them…

And then that damned naval artillery had started up.

By now he had lost communication with five platoons of infantry and armor combined, and with the intensity of the bombardment he could only assume the worst: An entire company of men and equipment… gone. All of it destroyed within the span of a few minutes by some exceptional forward spotting and what had to be the most well trained gun crews he had ever run across.

And if he attacked again, it was a near certainty that more of the same would follow.

Not that it really mattered. By now his forces were becoming so depleted that the entire operation was being threatened. A heavy bombardment less than an hour ago had blown a quarter-mile hole in their defensive lines to the north and at that very moment Global Justice forces were pouring through the gap. The few reserve units he had available for deployment in that sector were fighting valiantly to be sure, but against such an overwhelming onslaught their efforts were marginally effective at best. As hard as they might try they simply couldn't plug the hole, and while they could certainly buy time for another line to be formed behind them, the futility of such an effort was painfully obvious. The enemy would simply call in their heavy bombers once again, and smash that line just as they had the first.

With mounting losses and a reserve corps that was depleted to nearly nothing, General Emmy was reduced to sending office clerks and supply sergeants into combat. With little to no training, these men who were barely old enough to qualify as such were being given a rifle and thrown onto a northbound truck. It was no way to run an army, but with mounting casualties and dwindling resources he was facing desperate times, and resorting to desperate measures.

_"Perhaps a smaller-scale attack?"_ he pondered to himself. _"Something that could sneak up on them without being noticed. If we could just get close enough then that confounded fire support would be worthless._

_"Pshhh, yeah! Attack with WHAT? I've got nothing left in this zone and in the time it will take to bring in assets from elsewhere, the miscreants will have moved on again. God, we're so close to taking them! There's got to be SOMETHING we can do! Maybe if we can get a chopper in the air and hit 'em with a missile strike? Erase the whole bloody lot of them in one deft stroke. Sure, we won't have the royals after that, but neither will anyone else. Maybe THAT'S enough of a win?"_

* * *

Meanwhile, twenty miles out to sea, massive auto-loaders swung into action once again. Just as it had been during countless drills in the past, shells were brought up from the depths and mated with powder in pre-measured satchels. But there was a distinct twist in this case: Something that made this procedure different from all the others that preceded it.

For when the shell emerged from the elevator and was lowered by hydraulic arm onto the tray that would carry it to the waiting gun breech, there was a distinct difference in its shape. Rather than the typical pointed nose, cylindrical body and blunt tail of a traditional shell, this projectile featured a nose that was downright needle-like. Behind that ominous spike of a nose, the body of the shell flared out in a concave shape, then narrowed slightly along its length before terminating in a near mirror image of its front. It was a profile unlike anything else in the artilleryman's arsenal, and it was built for a highly specialized and highly classified purpose.

For who would have ever imagined that a gun of this size could fire a sabot round? A one-ton spike of depleted uranium encapsulated within an ultra-hard shell of tungsten carbide, this was the ultimate in penetration and deep destruction. Upon launch the outer casing would peel away, leaving the ultra-heavy knife-like projectile to sail toward its target virtually unmolested by the forces of aerodynamic drag. With a velocity of more than Mach ten it could defeat any armor, penetrate any fortification, and bring death and destruction to even the most well entrenched and heavily protected enemy.

With another klaxon call, one of the great guns raised it muzzle once again and belched out a fountain of flame across the sea. And like the hand of God on judgment day, the mighty blade lanced out through thin air, the fate of its target already a forgone conclusion. For the men of power and distinction who had brought this man-made hell to the idyllic Isle of Rhodighan, their day of reckoning had come.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Ahhhhhhhhh… Nothing quite like letting the big guns of the navy come out to play. I've actually wanted to write a chapter such as this ever since I saw aerial photographs of an Iowa-class battleship firing in full broadside. (I think it was the New Jersey, if memory serves, but it might have been either the Missouri or the Wisconsin as well. For some reason I don't think it was the Iowa herself.)

Anyway, the descriptions I use here may seem incredible, but everything is based upon real-world physics. In real-life, the Iowas carry nine sixteen-inch guns in their main batteries, organizing them into a trio of three-gun turrets. Each of these massive weapons can launch a 2,200-pound shell to a point 25 miles downrange. Additionally, when brought to their maximum elevation, these same guns can turn that shell into an armor-piercing bomb, reaching an altitude of seven miles before returning to earth.

It's an awesome capability that requires equally awesome power to accomplish. To this end, propellant for these guns is pre-measured into satchels containing 110 pounds of powder each. The number of satchels used for a particular shot will vary based on the range to the target, but at its maximum, six satchels will be placed behind the shell before the breech is sealed and the gun fired. When this occurs, the shell will leave the barrel at four-and-a-half times the speed of sound. Sailing through its 20-plus-mile ballistic trajectory, its speed will have diminished only slightly by the time it reaches its target.

Upon striking a targeted ship, the shell penetrates the armored hull, cleaving off a large, roughly circular piece of steel known as the "wagon wheel." This in turn becomes a secondary projectile, careening through the ship's interior and causing catastrophic damage in its own right. Meanwhile, three milliseconds after the moment of impact, the shell's delayed fuse activates, detonating nearly a ton of high explosive within the target's unprotected interior, igniting fuel stores, ammunition magazines, and vaporizing crewmen where they stand. It's a devastating blow that few if any ships can survive.

But for the case of our story however, I was forced to scale things up a bit. After all, the Boreaus and Notus make the Iowa-class battlewagons look like tug boats by comparison. Packing sixteen 20-inch guns against the nine 16-inchers of the Iowas, there's far greater mass, and exponentially greater power involved.

For starters, I kept the idea of a maximum six-satchel charge, but I upped the satchel size from 110 pounds to 125. Additionally, with four more inches of diameter to work with, the shell itself had to become heavier, so I figured a gross weight of at least 2,500 pounds would be appropriate. Finally, it's been well documented that the recoil from a full-Iowa broadside will shove the ship four feet in the opposite direction. Now in the case of the Boreaus, the energy involved has increased greatly, but then again, so has the mass of the ship itself. (You need a bigger ship to carry the bigger guns after all.) And with more mass to absorb the energy, the differences in reaction are somewhat diminished. I figure that you'd only get perhaps another foot of displacement from a Boreaus-class broadside when compared against an Iowa. Sometimes bigger isn't as impressive as you'd think it would be.

_Meet the Crew:_ Now before we get too far into this, I understand that when it comes to the G.J. tank crew we met at the beginning of this chapter, some of the names might seem strangely familiar to you. I'm going to be totally honest here and cop to being something less than original with this scene. The characters of Oddball, Moriarty and Crapgame were pulled from the 1970 hit film "Kelly's Heroes." These were played by Donald Sutherland, Gavin MacLeod and Don Rickles respectively, and I did my best to represent each of those characters faithfully here. I even dared go so far as to draw from some of Rickles's more notable stand-up material as well. See if you can spot it.

Personally, this movie stands as one of my all-time favorites for its witty writing and innovative depictions of small unit combat. If you're looking for a highly entertaining evening at home, go rent it today!

_I.P.:_ In the air force, I.P. stands for "Initial Point." This is the designated point at which an attacking aircraft starts its bomb run. From the initial point, the bomber will fly at a specific heading, speed and altitude until reaching the A.P., or "Aiming Point." At this point the target is directly within the crosshairs of the plane's bombsight and the bombs are released, ending the bomb run. Even in our modern era of precision-guided munitions where hitting an exact release point is far less critical than in previous eras, the procedure of initial point and aiming point is still used.

_Montagne ́Ecouter:_ A French phrase meaning "Mountain View." For a village on a hillside, I couldn't think of a better name.

_O.P.:_ In the lexicon of land-based warfare, O.P. stands for "Observation Post." This is ordinarily the forward-most point along a defensive line, representing a point of first contact with the enemy. In the event of enemy action, the small group of soldiers assigned to the observation post is tasked with relaying a warning back to the command post, or C.P. From there, ranking officers within the unit will organize an appropriate response, relying on continued reports from the O.P. if possible.

Needless to say, the O.P is a highly important, and yet highly vulnerable position. As the first point of contact with the enemy, valuable intelligence can be obtained from the men at this position, but being so far out in front means that you're essentially on your own. In the event of a major enemy push or surprise attack, the men in the O.P. can do little more than call in reports until they are either killed or captured, which usually occurs within the first few minutes of battle.

_Sabot Round:_ A sabot, (pronounced "say-bo"), is a device used in a firearm or artillery piece to fire a projectile that is smaller than the bore diameter of the weapon. Derived from the French word for "basket," there have been many examples of sabots throughout history. But in the modern era however, the concept is most often applied in the deployment of armor penetrating munitions for the anti-tank role. Although the entire round is commonly referred to as a sabot round, technically speaking, only the discardable sleeve counts as a sabot.

The working principal behind a sabot round is that by firing a small projectile from a large gun you can achieve maximum velocity, and therefore maximum penetration of a hardened target. To this end, the sabot functions as a sort of shuttle carrier while the projectile is confined within the gun barrel. Typically it is a cylindrical sleeve, separated lengthwise into sections with an outer diameter equal to that of the barrel and an inner diameter equal to that of the projectile.

With the projectile, or "flechette" as it is technically known, cradled tightly in the center of the sabot, a tight seal is formed around both the flechette and the inside of the barrel. With this seal intact, the rapidly expanding gasses produced by the burning powder will provide maximum acceleration to the round when fired.

At the point of discharge, the sabot is held intact by the walls of the barrel with the entire assembly speeding down the barrel's length until it exits the muzzle at maximum velocity. Upon hitting the still air outside the barrel, the sabot peels away and falls to earth, leaving only the flechette to carry on the journey to the target.

And this is where the true advantage of the sabot design becomes apparent. With the sudden removal of the sabot, the now bare flechette becomes a thin spike with very little in the way of front-end surface area. This creates minimal air resistance in flight and allows the flechette to maintain its high velocity over long distances, giving it a longer range than conventional shells and greater penetrating power when striking the target.

Perhaps the best example of this design is the 120-millimeter M-829/A2 round fired by the American M1A2 S.E.P. Abrams battle tank. With a muzzle velocity of 4,000 meters per second, the flechette is traveling at approximately Mach 12.7 when it sheds its sabot. Four miles and one-and-a-half seconds later, the flechette strikes the target having barely slowed at all from when it left the gun.

And this is where we find another, particularly nasty surprise.

In the case of the M-829, the flechette itself is cast from a material known as "depleted uranium." Now as the heaviest naturally occurring element in nature, uranium has greater mass by volume than any other material you'll find on a battlefield. And since an impact is really little more than a contest of mass, the stuff will generally get the better end of the deal when smacking into anything solid. The downside however is that uranium is somewhat on the soft side of things by material standards, and so weapons designers encapsulate this hot and heavy stuff inside a casing of tungsten carbide. This is essentially synthetic diamond, at least from the standpoint of molecular structure, so it's good to hold its shape, even when smacking into the side of a tank at hypersonic speed. (Oh, and if you're worried about radiation exposure… Don't be. That's why they use depleted uranium. The stuff's been rendered radioactively inert.)

And so we're left with the worlds heaviest hitting material encased within a shell of the world's hardest material. It's a one-two punch capable of taking on more than two-and-a-half feet of the world's best armor and busting through to the other side. But what about the warhead, you might ask? Where does the explosion fit in to all this? Well the short answer is you don't need one.

You see, at the point of penetration, what you have is essentially a solid object traveling through a confined space at a speed somewhere just this side of 9,000 miles per hour. At these speeds, even small objects create big sonic booms, and this is where the true destructive power of the flechette is found. For the flechette is often referred to as a "kinetic penetrator," meaning that it relies on its own kinetic energy, (the energy of motion), to do its dirty work. When the flechette tears through the interior of a tank, the kinetic shock it produces is so intense that soft materials like flesh and bone come apart on a molecular level. The unfortunate crew of that tank isn't burned or blown up, nor are they even vaporized. In plain terms, they are simply erased: Their bodies reduced to constituent atoms in the blink of an eye. The tank itself is left more or less intact by the impact, while the crew simply vanishes from existence.

Pretty freaky, huh?

And so with their vaunted military force decimated and their grand plans of vengeance in tatters, it looks like the end of the road for General Arch N. Emmy and the Knights of Rhodighan. But after more than three centuries of animosity and hatred will this age-old blood feud really be ended so easily? Are the G.J. gunners really as good as Ron thinks? And what of the remaining Rhodigonian forces? Decapitation strikes are great and all that, but exactly how "top-down" was their organization? Sometimes being de-centralized can be a good thing.

Tune in next time when the point gets driven home, and the team learns that sometimes the fat lady contracts laryngitis.

Read, review and receive a reply. That's the way the system here works folks… Our very own version of the "Three Rs". (Okay, maybe it's four… sort of. But who the heck's counting anyway?)

Peace out dudes!

_Nutzkie…_


	14. Making the Point

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Fourteen ~**

No one was surprised when the sound came again. And yet something was different this time around. Where before, the shell's arrival had been heralded by an ear-splitting scream that tore the sky in two, this time the sound was far more subdued. It was more of a whistle than a scream: A high-pitched, fleeting sound that seemed to hover at the very edge of human hearing. It came accompanied by a crackling noise similar to the sound made when someone inadvertently steps on a twig in a silent forest, and then silence reigned across the land once again.

From his vantage point, Ron could see full well the results of his handiwork. With his binoculars pressed to his face and his elbows propped comfortably on the lip of the embankment, he noted the sudden eruption of dust that burst forth from the hillside like an earthen geyser. All along the length of the slope, billowing brown clouds arose as loose rocks and soil were dislodged from their precarious perches and tumbled downward toward lower elevations. Amongst the buildings above, plaster cracked and a few stray roof tiles joined the cascade of debris succumbing to gravity's will, but nothing more serious than that could be seen.

Quickly, he reported the results of the strike and called for another. Moments later another flechette flashed across the sky, striking slightly higher on the slope than the first. The impact added a pair of broken windows to the total bill, but once again, when the dust settled, no major damage was to be seen.

Satisfied that the job was done, Ron called a final cease-fire and profusely thanked the fire control officer for saving their sorry butts. A free meal was promised, should the opportunity ever present itself, and the radio connection was severed for the final time. Whimsically, he stole a final glance through his binoculars at the target zone and marveled at how the pinpoint precision of the gunnery had resulted in virtually no collateral damage to the buildings situated just a few yards away. He silently wondered how different the results must have been for the souls residing beneath those same buildings.

* * *

For General Emmy and his men, the end came quickly: So quickly that perhaps they were unaware of dying. Unimpeded by yards of earth and feet of reinforced concrete, the first flechette had torn through the walls of their subterranean fortress like nothing was even there. Concrete was pulverized into dust and rebar was left a tangled mess as the eight-foot long one-ton projectile bored into the earth like a demonic mole, carrying with it a shockwave that exploded through open cavities within the ground and collapsed those same spaces to nothingness in its wake.

For the men inside there was no dignity in death. Subjected to a kinetic shock that strained the very bonds holding matter together, they did not burn nor bleed. Even to say that they were vaporized would be a gross misstatement of fact. They were, in a word, atomized. Within the span of three milliseconds, less than half the time needed for signals of physical stimulation to be processed by the brain, the compression wave reduced their bodies to constituent atoms, rendering them as one with shattered remains of their underground lair, forever entombed beneath the very ground they sought to reign over.

There would be no memorials for these men of battle. No parades to honor them… no monuments to pay tribute to them. With no bodies to bury there would be no graves upon which to place wreaths of remembrance or to stand beside and make proud speeches about bravery, honor and sacrifice. There would be no plaques or statues for future generations of Rhodigonian Knights to stand before and vow to carry on the struggle of their fathers, and their fathers before them. To a man they had simply been erased from existence: Wiped clean from this world by a one-ton eraser upon the chalkboard of life. They had vanished into nothingness, and their iron-willed legacy of blood lust and vengeance had vanished along with them.

* * *

_"Oh, someone's in the kitchen with pot… roast! Someone's in the kitchen I know-ho-ho-ho! Someone's in the kitchen with…"_

"Hey! Musical chef! How's that grub comin'?"

"Wha? Oh, it's a-comin' along just fine. We should be eating in about another twenty minutes or so."

"Spankin! Anything I can do to help?"

With those words, Ron Stoppable's eyes grew to the size of serving platters and his face took on the pal of a San Francisco detective who just found out he's Dirty Harry's new partner.

The sudden shift in expression did not go unnoticed.

"Relax, Emeril." Kim growled. "I wasn't talking about direct involvement."

"Oh, good." Ron sighed in relief. "'Cause I think the shelling was destructive enough. Ouch!" He reflexively reached up to rub the arm where his girlfriend had just punched him.

"Okay, I probably deserved that." He groused.

"And don't you forget it." She replied. Honestly, the playful banter was an immensely welcome change from the day's earlier experiences.

Leaving the scene of the shelling had been nothing less than a walk through Hell itself. Emerging from their makeshift fortification, they had entered an unworldly realm where the very fabric of reality seemed grotesquely distorted. A sickly gray veil of dust and cordite smoke hung thick in the air, obscuring distant details and muffling sound. Ground that had only moments before hosted an idyllic scene of stately trees and tranquil meadows had now been stripped of all vegetation. Even the grass was but a memory now, replaced by scorched and upturned earth. In some areas even the topsoil had been blown away, exposing the bedrock to be shattered by the force of subsequent blasts. All around them was a moonscape of craters and scattered stones. It was a dead and devastated world: A world turned charcoal gray.

"So, you hungry or what?"

"Huh? Oh yeah… starving." Kim stammered, unexpectedly being pulled from her thoughts by Ron's remark. "By the way; how'd you ever wind up with pot roast on the menu?"

"Well, to be truthful, it's not really pot roast per se." Ron apologetically confessed. "With our limited resources and what not I had to improvise with some of the ingredients."

"Improvise? Improvise how?"

"With a rabbit."

"You cooked a rabbit?"

"Shhhhh! Be vewy, vewy quiet…"

To spite Ron's lame attempt at humor, Kim recoiled, her appetite suddenly receding. Somehow the idea of chowing down on "Thumper" simply failed to appeal to her.

"Where did you even get one of those?" she gasped.

"Around." Was Ron's cryptic reply. "Oh, by the way… Remind me after we eat that I need to clean my Glock again this evening."

"Actually, I think I'll be skipping dinner tonight." She mumbled under her breath.

"Oh. Oh-kaaaaaaay…" Ron suspiciously responded. "You still wanna help out then?"

"Yeah, yeah… I'll pitch in." Kim agreed. At least the activity would be something to take her mind off of what her boyfriend tending to in that pot. "What do you need done?"

"Well let's see now." Ron pondered, looking around at his surroundings. "We could use some more firewood. You know… just in case."

"I'm on it." Kim snappily replied. Truth be told, it was just the thing she wanted to hear right then. "Hey Alexia. Would you mind helping me on this one?"

"You need help gathering sticks, KP?" Ron asked, thinking it strange that a girl who could do anything would require assistance for such a menial chore.

"You're the one who's so big on the buddy system, mister 'place of evil.'" Kim shot back, forcing Ron to admit that she had a point.

"Alright then. I'll hold down the fort here." Ron informed the pair as they moved into the surrounding trees. "Hey Wally! You wanna learn how to gut a bunny?"

* * *

"Check out over here! There's a big patch of manzinita!"

"Manzinita?"

"Yeah. It's a hard and dense wood. Burns really well, even when it's wet."

"And she's a forestry expert too. Why am I not surprised?" Kim inwardly groaned, mounting the low rise to where Alexia stood. Although late in the evening there was still ample light to see by, which allowed for easy navigation over the uneven terrain.

It would also allow for easy disposal of a body, should things wind up coming to that.

Huffing up the slope, she quickly joined the duchess beside a large patch of gnarled vegetation with tiny green leaves and dark red bark. Here and there, contrasting sections of light gray could be seen, indicating the presence of plants that had died from unknown causes.

"Go for the dead wood." Kim instructed, pulling a pair of flexible cable saws from her utility belt. "It's easier to cut and it'll burn better."

"Agreed." Alexia concurred, taking one of the saws and following Kim toward a nearby patch of deceased plants. Stripped of foliage and bleached in the sun, the twisted trunks and branches resembled a decaying skeleton more than a wild shrub, and gave off a vibe that both young women found somewhat eerie. They worked in silence, diligently accumulating a sizable pile of cuttings before Kim decided to jump in and broach the subject she had been wanting to discuss since they left camp an hour before.

"Soooooooo, you and Ron seem to be getting along well."

"Huh? Oh yeah. He's a really great guy." Alexia smiled as she turned and tossed another branch onto the growing pile. "You know, it's rare to meet someone with those qualities. Strong, yet sensitive… bold yet cunning… a positive thinker… knows how to cook… hands that can…"

"Yeah, yeah. No need to take inventory." Kim interrupted, her blood pressure noticeably rising with each observation. "So has he told you anything else about himself? You know… Besides the obvious stuff?" she prodded. Years of experience in dealing with cagey individuals had taught her that sometimes you get the most honest answers when you don't ask questions… Or at the very least frame them in a way that disguises your true intent.

"Oh, he mentioned a few things." Alexia absent-mindedly observed, starting work on another branch. "I know he has an adopted baby sister and his parents are both in pretty math-intensive fields."

"Mmmm-hmmm. Anything else?"

It was at that point that the duchess ceased her repetitive cutting and cast a knowing, sideways glance at the redhead beside her.

"Let's be honest with each other and skip the whole 'song-and-dance' routine, shall we?" Alexia panned with a smirk. "What is it you're really asking me? Did he mention anything about the two of you being together?"

"Well, did he?" Kim shot back, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest. If the young noblewoman wanted to take the direct approach, then she was more than willing to accommodate.

Alexia stared straight back into the fiery emerald glare and didn't flinch.

"To put it simply, yeah… He talked a lot about you. The truth is I've never seen a guy talk about a girl like that before, or for as long either. It was like he just couldn't seem to get you out of his head. It was actually pretty sweet when you stop and think about it."

"Yeah, that's my guy." Kim smiled dreamily, before the hardness returned to her gaze once more. "But I noticed that didn't stop you from putting the moves on him anyway."

"Alright! Now you're making no sense at all." Alexia huffed, turning her attention back to the shrub in front of her.

"Don't turn your back on me!" Kim snapped. "And exactly what sense am I not making?" She winced slightly at the awkward nature of that last statement but didn't let it interrupt the flow of the conversation.

"I can assure you that I was not, as you so eloquently put it, 'putting the moves' on anyone." Alexia insisted.

"Yeah! As if!"

"What? You think I'm plotting some sort of nefarious 'end-around' scheme just because I had a few conversations with him? Well I've got news for you, Kimberly: When you're stranded in the wilderness with someone for a week, you tend to strike up some form of dialogue. It doesn't take a devious mind and it's hardly evidence of a plot!"

"Yeah, well there's more than one way to hold someone's attention." Kim quipped, casting her gaze away from the thoroughly annoyed royal.

"Once again, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh puh-_leeze!_ Just who the heck do you think you're fooling?" Kim sarcastically snorted. "Wilderness survival skills? Playing chef's assistant? Artillery spotting? Hot-wiring a car? Handling your cousin like he's carry-on luggage? You ain't pulling the wool over anyone's eyes, little Miss Show-Off!"

"Seriously? That's what's bothering you?" Alexia incredulously bemoaned, dramatically flailing her arms for effect. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize you'd rather I did nothing and let us all be stranded, shot or starved instead. How could I have ever been so presumptuous, overstepping my bounds like that?"

"Hey! I had things under control!" Kim aggressively retorted. "I didn't need any help out there, either from you or anyone else!"

"Did you really now?" Alexia panned, dropping her saw and turning to face the teen heroine once again. "Because from what I saw, you weren't exactly jumping to the call."

"Wha? Why you…"

"Look! You're used to being master and commander on these missions of yours and I get that." Alexia sighed. "But you seriously need to come down off that mountaintop once in a while and slog through the trenches with everyone else. Even the most capable leaders in the world regularly rely on their subordinates. And you know why? It's because they realize that no matter how skilled they are personally, they can't do it all."

"Well then that's their problem, now isn't it?"

"And just what the heck is that supposed to mean?"

"Hello! Check the motto!" Kim defiantly quipped. "You're talking to the girl who can do anything, remember?"

"Yes, Kimberly. You can do anything… Not everything." Alexia observed. "Let's not kid ourselves and admit that even you occasionally need help. Because to be perfectly frank, self-delusion isn't very becoming on you."

"I admit to no such thing." Kim muttered beneath her breath, but not so deep that Alexia didn't hear.

"Oh really? So then I suppose you're only dragging Ronald along for the comic relief?"

Kim's eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped agape at the duchess's accusation. No one… not even Bonnie… had ever dared question Ron's value so directly. Even Drakken, with his perpetual inability to remember Ron's name, would admit when pressed that the young man brought an added dimension of capability to the team. For the duchess to make such an assertion, after everything that Ron had done during the past few days, went beyond the realm of mere insult and approached dangerously close to being a prelude to violence.

Noticing the look of pure shock On Kim's face, Alexia smiled slightly, confident that her point had been made.

"Oh, don't look so surprised Kimberly." She said, bending over to pick up the saw once more. "That is what you just said, isn't it? That you're perfectly capable on your own and don't need anyone's help? If that's really true, then that young man back there tending to our dinner isn't really necessary, is he? He's pretty much the textbook definition of 'dead weight' by your own measure."

With this, Kim's face instantly fell. Alexia had been right on target with her argument, driving the point home as ruthlessly and as efficiently as a punch to the gut. And that's what Kim admittedly felt like at the moment: That sickly sensation down deep inside, combined with an oppressive inability to catch her breath. It was something she had felt a hundred times before under different circumstances, but it was that very difference that made the sensation so much worse this time around. In her desire to marginalize the young duchess and buttress her own ego, she had inadvertently been marginalizing the one person whose unheralded and unseen efforts so often made her accomplishments possible: The person whose incredible inner strength was the foundation upon which she stood, and without whom none of her amazing feats or resounding accolades would have ever come to pass: The person whose loyalty propelled her and whose love sustained her. This was the person she had methodically been reducing to the status of "dead weight," as Alexia so aptly put it, and she had done so without ever even realizing the true nature of her actions.

"Hey. For what it's worth, there's nothing here that's going to convince me you're a bad person by any measure." Alexia pointed out, noticing the expression of shame cross Kim's face. "You just found yourself walking on unfamiliar ground and reacted without thinking things through is all.

"Look, it's like this," the duchess continued. "Do I have certain skill sets that can prove advantageous in these situations? Yes. Could you have handled things on your own? Maybe, but that's not the way it all went down so that line of thought is just an academic exercise at this point. What we do know however is that you rely on other people's assistance all the time. Whether it's Ronald or Rufus or the people who used to give you rides back before your boyfriend got those shiny wings of his."

"Wait! How'd you know about…?"

"What? You think you're the only one who reads 'Humans' magazine.'"

"Touché."

"I try. But anyway, my point is that you've been relying on the skills and resources of others since you first got into this whole world-saving gig of yours. And given the scope of what you do, that's the only thing that any reasonable person would expect. So congratulations: You're human. You just need to admit that to yourself, and maybe broaden your vision about whose help you're willing to accept: Not just reflexively assume that anyone who pitches in is trying to upstage you."

Kim could only hide her face in shame. Had she really been that shallow? Memories of Bonnie and the "food chain" came flooding back to her in this moment of contrition as she recalled past instances of how her lingering obsession with status had manifested itself before, and how dearly it had almost cost her. She didn't feel like she could face the group again.

But fortunately, Alexia was able to step in and lend a hand once more.

"Hey! Buck up, there." She playfully chided the redhead. "You've learned your lesson and that's what matters. Now there's a five-star chef back there waiting for us and he's going to be serving cold rabbit if we don't get on the ball here. What say we help him out? Huh?"

"I gotta admit, if there's anything that sounds worse than rabbit for dinner, it's cold rabbit for dinner." Kim weakly smiled, picking up her own saw and grabbing a nearby branch. She turned to face the duchess as she readied her first cut.

"Hey Alexia?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks… For everything."

"My dear lady, it was my distinct pleasure." Alexia admitted with a dramatic curtsey, and both young women were soon sawing away once more.

* * *

"Hey Wally. You ever seen what a Rabbit's colon looks like from the inside?"

"Dear God, I certainly hope not."

"Huh. Suit yourself then." Ron shrugged, turning back to his makeshift kitchen. "But you're really missing something with this gall bladder here."

"Oh, I imagine that I shall, (gulp), survive somehow."

"Hey, since I'm tied up here and you're not busy being obnoxious right now, can I ask you a question?"

"I believe you just did."

"Ah! Good catch. Then in that case can I ask another one? You know, after this one I mean."

"If you must." Wally sighed in annoyance.

"Really? Badical!" Ron enthused. "So anyway, I've been noticing that you've been handling yourself somewhat different lately, and I was like, kind of wondering what gives?"

"Different? How do you mean?"

"Well it's just that you've been… well, you know… competent."

Young Wallace cast a dirty look toward his current companion and snorted rudely at the slight, causing Ron to quickly backtrack.

"Hey now! I'm not trying to be all up in your face about stuff or anything." He insisted. "It's just that you've got this rep hanging on you and…"

"And you're surprised that 'Weak-Link Wally' can actually keep himself together in a crisis. Is that the substance of your question?"

Ron could only stand stalk still and blink in confusion at the sudden burst of clarity from the uptight prince. Somehow, perception and self-honesty were not qualities he'd normally associate with this nasal-pitched nobleman.

"Well… yeah. Pretty much." He stammered.

Young Wallace was thoroughly unimpressed by the blonde's reaction.

"Don't act so surprised." He scoffed. "To spite what the press might say, I am not completely oblivious. I know what my public image is and I understand why people choose to think of me in that way."

"Well if you know you've got PR issues, then why don't you do something about it?" Ron asked, honestly curious about the prince's motivations. "I mean, there's people who do that stuff for a living after all. And they're good at it too! How else do you explain Jimmy Blamhammer actually winning an Oscar?"

The heir to the throne of Rhodighan turned his gaze away and sighed in resignation.

"Being from such a common background, I wouldn't expect you to understand." He began. "When you are born the son of a king, you are born into a different world than other people, and it's a world that most would not recognize. Oh sure, the privileges and luxuries are wonderful. Don't get me wrong. But the price for those luxuries is isolation, and that alone is a tremendous burden to bear. I believe your own presidents have a phrase to describe this phenomenon. They refer to it as being 'inside the bubble.'"

"Yeah, I can see how that could eat at a guy." Ron thoughtfully conceded, tapping his chin in contemplation. "But then again, the President usually manages to deal. How are things any different for you?"

"Your President serves for eight years at most." Wally flatly pointed out. "Try living in that bubble from womb to tomb and see how things turn out."

"Okay, okay. I see your point."

"It's not so much the bubble itself that presents the problem." Wally sighed as he continued. "It's the way it interferes with one's priorities. In a way, it's just like looking through any other curved piece of glass: The views you receive are greatly distorted."

Ron idly stirred the pot in front of him and listened intently as the prince continued.

"When everything is laid out for you, it's difficult to care. All your needs are addressed in short order, the activities of your day are strictly regimented and any time you leave your own home you're surrounded by a moving wall of security that cuts you off from all human contact. It's like you're not even living your own life. Your whole existence basically becomes property of the state, and if you don't own yourself, then why should you take any responsibility for yourself?

"You see, that's why I came across as aloof and uncaring. It's because deep down I really didn't care. And honestly, why should I? If all I am is a political prop to be wheeled out for ceremonies and placed back into storage when the party's over, then there's really not a whole lot for me to care about, is there?"

"I feel ya' man. I really do." Ron nodded in agreement. "But if there's nothing worth caring about in your world, then why suddenly become mister 'step-up-to-the-plate'? I mean people who don't give a mole rat's whiskers usually don't go crazy with heavy firepower the way you did. I'd say you found something to care about back there."

"That's because the bubble was burst." Wally grinned conspiratorially. "For the first time in my life I wasn't living inside a containment field of strict rules and stone walls. When you and your partner burst through that door and grabbed us, you removed us from that artificial existence and dragged us into something far more real than anything I've ever known before."

"Yeah, well you didn't seem so happy about that reality at the time as I recall." Ron panned.

"Yes, this is true." Wally shrugged in agreement. "Truth be told, I was scared out of my mind. Freedom can be a terrifying thing if one has never experienced it before. For as much as one may detest the rules and formalities of that gilded prison we call a palace, if you live there long enough you come to depend upon them. To suddenly be thrown over that wall and told to live by your own decisions, if one has no experience in such matters, it is a sobering challenge."

"So what changed your mind?" Ron prodded; genuinely interested in seeing where the prince was going with this.

"I discovered myself." Wally smiled again. "And more importantly, I discovered that I belonged to myself: That I could actually do things, not because they conformed to protocol, or because some minister penciled them into my official schedule, but because I wanted to do them. That was something I found to be beyond exhilarating… And worth fighting for as well."

With his pot simmering and the aroma of dinner wafting through the air, Ron found it hard to suppress a smile. After all, he had always had his suspicions about the young prince. Perhaps it was his nearly compulsive willingness to always see the good side in people, but throughout his previous dealings with the younger Wallace he had caught what he considered fleeting glimpses of a stronger, more mature person scratching through toward the light. But sadly the weak-kneed and childish impulses always held sway, and would inevitably subvert those better impulses once again.

But now the traumatic events of the last few days had smashed that façade to pieces. Swept away was the sniveling, self-absorbed and emotionally repressed royal, and in its place the capable and self-confident version was finally emerging into the light. A new and improved Prince Wallace, forged in the fires of battle, just has he himself had been changed by his experiences with the Eagles. It was a dramatic change to say the least.

And given everything he knew about the young man's background, he had to admit it looked good on him.

"Ya' know Wally, I gotta say," he grinned. "For a whiny spineless debutant, you're actually all right."

"Thank you… I think." The prince grimaced.

"Well don't make a habit of saying that!" the familiar voice of Alexia suddenly rang through the trees. "If his head gets any more swollen it's likely to explode!"

"Oh hardy-har-har. Very funny there, cuz." Wally groused, turning to face his cousin and her redheaded companion as they emerged from the tree line and into the campsite.

"Ladies! You're back!" Ron enthusiastically greeted the pair.

"Yup. And we come bearing gifts." Kim responded, nodding to the armloads of branches that both girls carried.

"Oh hey! Manzinita!" Ron observed, grabbing one of the branches for closer inspection. "Man, you girls sure got the good stuff here. This stuff burns like crazy. It's a really…"

"…Dense wood. Yeah, so I've heard." Kim completed, wondering if everyone in the world except her had suddenly turned into some sort of naturalist. "So how's supper coming?"

"Just a few more minutes and it's done." Ron informed before taking on a more confused look. "Wait. I thought you said you weren't hungry."

"Yeah, well things change." Kim admitted. "That was an hour ago, and I figure if anyone can make something that was still hopping around just this morning taste good, it would be you."

"Coolio!" Ron enthused. "'Cause I'm trying a new seasoning mix that I was hoping to get your opinion on."

"I'm sure it'll be heavenly."

"And then for an after-dinner activity, I got a little creative with the ears."

"Uh, creative?"

"Two words KP: 'Shadow puppets.'"

Kim suddenly felt her appetite slipping away again.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well that was a refreshing change of pace, now wasn't it? I figured that after three solid chapters of action, adventure and gratuitous explosions, our friends had earned a little R&R. Granted, it's not exactly a week in Seoul, but considering where they are and what they've been through, any breather is a good breather.

Not a whole lot to talk about here in terms of technical military mumbo-jumbo, so I guess these notes will be to the short and sweet side of things. (Gee, this happens so rarely that I don't know what to do with myself all of a sudden.)

Needless to say however, a whole lot of bad air amongst the group has now been cleared, the enemy is in disarray, the immediate threat has passed and the rabbit is dead. (Where the heck is Daffy Duck when you need him, anyway?) Where things go from here is a secret that I'll be keeping close until at least the next chapter, and so I'll warn you right now: I cannot be bought and I cannot be threatened, but put the two together and you've got a pretty convincing argument. (Email me for instructions on where to send the checks. Wink-wink… nudge-nudge…) ;-)

And for those of you who might ever be on a camping trip in the wilderness, take it from someone who spent eight years in the Boy Scouts: The claims about manzinita are money in the bank. I remember for many years, each and every June my troop would spend a week camping in the high Sierra Nevada Mountains near an area known as Emigrant Gap. Manzinita thickets grow readily in the rocky soil and thin air of these altitudes, and we all quickly learned to value the plant as fuel for our campfires and sheepherder stoves. The ease with which it burnt, even in years when the mountains were subjected to rare summer thunderstorms, was truly amazing.

Needless to say, as soon as camp was pitched on the first day out, each patrol within the troop would send out scouting parties to locate nearby patches of the plant and stake the patrol's claim to them. Of course with multiple groups milling about aimlessly in the woods, confusion was a constant companion, and disputes over ownership were the inevitable result. Small-scale range wars soon followed, occasionally marked by isolated outbreaks of violence. (Oh, sweet childhood memories!)

Oh, and on a thoroughly unrelated note, I'd like to apologize for having taken so long in providing this update. My job has been somewhat crazy for me the past couple of months. And then just as things were settling down to levels approaching sane, my computer picked up a virus and required a complete re-install of Windows. It's taken me until now to finally get most of my files back and regain operational status. Technology making our lives easier, folks… (Sigh)

You all know the drill: Write a review and receive a reply. It's a one-for-one exchange rate that's served us all well. Let's not go knocking it, shall we?

I'll be catching you all later with the next chapter. _Ciao!_

_Nutzkie…_


	15. Deliverance, Decisions & Debriefings

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**Foreword Note:**

For the record, I did not anticipate releasing this chapter so soon. My original intentions were to post the installment sometime in early June with the final epilogue chapter coming sometime around the end of the month. However, as the chapter began to develop and the content came into focus, I realized that today would be an almost ideal time for its public début.

You see, here in "The States," today is Memorial Day: A day when we pause in remembrance of all the fighting men and women over the decades who have gone into battle and have made the ultimate sacrifice in the defense of our nation. For reasons that will become clear as you read further, portions of this chapter present a very tributary sort of theme regarding the American military, and the connection between the chapter and today's date was simply too strong to ignore.

And so, it is in remembrance and admiration for all members of the armed services that I proudly present Chapter 15 of _"Rise of Rhodighan."_ May the flag always fly high!

* * *

**~ Chapter Fifteen ~**

"OW!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Stupid tree just reached out and smacked me!"

"Well be more careful then, Mister George of the Jungle. And try keeping it down while you're at it. We're being sneaky here."

"Easier said than done, KP. And exactly whose brilliant idea was it to be walking at night anyway?"

"It was _my_ idea, thank you very much." Kim grunted. "We need to take advantage of all the chaos your little gift created, and that means we keep moving."

"Well all I'm saying is that being able to see would be a big help."

"Sound and light discipline, Ron. Think silent and invisible."

"OUCH!"

"Now what?"

"Rock!"

"Seriously Ron."

"Errugh! Mother F…"

"RON! Rated 'G' here!"

"Hey! Tell it to the rocks!"

"You want me to talk to rocks?"

"Well not _literally,_ no."

Kim sighed in frustration, thankful that the darkness concealed the obvious face-palm she had just executed. Truth be told, navigating in near total darkness was taking its toll on everyone, herself included. Tree branches and spider webs had the nastiest tendency to reach out and grab you when you least expected it, and the sometimes-uneven terrain was simply murder on your knees and ankles. In and of itself this was plenty to deal with, but when you tossed in a recent growth spurt and a natural tendency toward clumsiness, it all added up to one very unhappy blond bringing up the rear.

…Make that one very unhappy and very _vocal_ blond.

Pushing ahead through the underbrush following yet another dry stream bed, she both relished the momentarily silence and braced herself for the next of her boyfriend's inevitable outbursts. It would only be a matter of moments before he spoke up again, she knew full well, so her surprise was complete when what she heard was not a pleading whine coming from behind her, but a faint rustle coming from in front.

In a flash she raised a clenched fist above her head, the pale moonlight providing just enough illumination for the others to see the signal and stop their march, quickly and quietly passing the word amongst themselves as they did. Another signal bid everyone to take cover and they responded accordingly. All except for Ron that was, who swiftly moved up through the small formation and within moments was at his girlfriend's side.

"What've we got, KP?" he whispered.

"Dunno." Kim whispered back. "But there's something up there." She gestured toward the general vicinity of the sound's origin.

"Squirrels, maybe?" Ron offered with a visible cringe. Even after all those years, the specter of Camp Wannaweep still cast a long and ominous shadow over his psyche.

"Doubtful." Kim definitively replied. "Whatever this was it was a lot bigger than a squirrel."

"Badgers then, maybe?"

"A _badger?"_

"Hey. It could happen."

Then, the sound was heard again. This time much closer.

"I withdraw my proposal." Ron anxiously whimpered. "That was no badger."

"Not unless badgers learned to walk on two legs." Kim observed, dropping back slightly to take cover within the undergrowth.

Both teens retreated further into the small gully and crouched down as low as they could amongst the dry brush, silent as church mice as they watched and waited. Not even a breath of wind stirred as the seconds dragged on, and Kim nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the metallic click of Ron unfastening the safety strap on his holster. A second later she heard the familiar sound of plastic scraping against leather and knew that he had slipped his side arm out of it's protected place. If there was going to be a firefight this night, then he would be as ready as he conceivably could.

The rustling came still closer now, more pronounced and suggesting the presence of more than one individual. Whoever was making the noise; it was by now beyond clear that they were quite human. The question was only one of intent, and of whose flag they pledged their allegiance to. Kim had just begun to estimate the numbers involved, and already she figured close to a dozen men to be within twenty yards of their position.

And then, just as quickly as it had come, the noise stopped. The forest was once again plunged into a deathly silence as all activity abruptly ceased, leaving nothing but their own pounding hearts and shallow breathing to fill the teens' ears. Huddling together beneath a flimsy canopy of branches neither of them dared take so much as a deep breath as time dragged on interminably. Instinctively, Kim's right hand found its way into Ron's left and was rewarded with a gentle, comforting squeeze. Somewhere in the distance a bird was disturbed from its roost, the sudden flapping of wings jerking their attention skyward and causing their hearts to skip several beats. It was as if time itself had stopped its relentless march, pausing in place to await some event of great significance, the nature of which they could not know.

And then, out from the deafening silence, a single voice came forth.

_"Lightning."_

"Thunder!" Ron reflexively barked in response.

Kim's response on the other hand was equal parts outrage and abject horror. She fixed her boyfriend with an ice-cold and wide-eyed glare that carried a single, undeniable message:

_"What in the name of all that's holy did I ever do to you?"_

Ron, however, seemed thoroughly unfazed by the redhead's reaction.

"Don't worry, KP." He grinned widely. "S'all good from here on out." He quickly slipped his weapon back into it holster and stood up to face the rim of the gully, thrusting a single fist into the air. He hadn't even managed a single step forward before two camouflaged figures, their faces obscured, emerged from the shadows and approached.

"Identify." The man on the right commanded.

"Lieutenant Commander Ronald Adrian Stoppable, First Air Wing, Fourth Fighter Group, Echo Team." Ron recited almost robotically, firing off a salute for good measure. "We've got three VIPs here in need of exfiltration and medical care."

"You're the extraction team?" the anonymous soldier on the left asked.

"We ain't the O-Boyz, if that's what you mean." Kim panned, stepping up beside Ron to join the conversation, feeling marginally more confident about the sitch.

"Damn! We've been looking all over for you guys!" the first soldier informed the team. "You had us all pretty worried there for a while, I gotta say. We even had a betting pool about whether you'd make it through."

"That reminds me… Shifty is sure gonna be pissed when he hears about this." His companion noted. "Another twelve hours and that pot would've been all his."

"Sergeant Powers will survive." The first man observed. "It's not the first time he's lost a bet."

"So how'd you find us?" Ron offhandedly asked.

"Picked you up on infra-red." One of the men informed, pointing to a camera-like sensor in the center of his helmet. "It was a slick 'duck-and-cover' move you guys played there, but there's no hiding a thermal signature. Both of you showed up like a couple of road flares on our scopes."

"Ah, natch." Ron shrugged in resignation, a little miffed that they had been spotted so easily, and yet thankful that they were dealing with friendly assets when it had happened.

"Yeah, that's all well and good and everything," Kim broke in, "but gambling and technical issues aside, we've kinda got a sitch on our hands here." She thrust a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the bedraggled-looking trio that was only now emerging from their hiding places and coming warily up behind her.

"Don't worry, ma'am. We've got you covered on that front." The first soldier reassured her. "Lipton! Liebgott! Front and center!"

Two more troops quickly emerged from the bushes, seeming to suddenly materialize from nowhere, and through the flashes of moonlight Kim could make out details of their equipment. All of these men were decked head-to-toe in digital-print camouflage and wore utility vests with a multi-layered surface that resembled the overlapping scales of a fish or lizard. Two of the four carried odd-looking rifles with distinctive banana-shaped magazines protruding from their rear ends between the stock and trigger. Ahead of the trigger, a larger box-like magazine fed into what appeared to be a pump-action grenade launcher, integrated directly below the body of the rifle.

A third man packed a larger weapon with dual front-end grips, a folding bi-pod and an under-slung ammo box with several links of belt ammunition dangling ominously from its open top. The fourth carried a boxy and futuristic-looking sub machine gun that she instantly recognized from one of the popular science fiction shows her father watched almost religiously. And behind them all, the presence of a fifth man was betrayed only by a faint glow that emanated from some sort of helmet-mounted eyepiece, illuminating his face with a bluish glow that reminded her of the light from a small television screen or computer monitor. All in all, it was quite the sight, and she would have been lying if she had said she wasn't at least a little bit intimidated by it all.

"Yes sir, Colonel Winters sir." One of the newcomers addressed the first man, saluting as he did so.

The colonel wasted no time issuing his orders.

"I want the two of you to escort these five people back to the C.P." he instructed his men. "Get on the horn to Colonel Sink and tell him that we've found the packages we were looking for. Then alert Battalion Aid and brief them on the situation. We're gonna need medical evaluations and we're gone need to evac these folks at the first reasonable opportunity, so pass the word to Con-Com and get authorization for transport. Have them find a chopper with five empty seats on it. You got all that?"

"Yes sir." Was the succinct reply.

"And while you're back there, find Guarnere and Malarkey and tell them to relieve you up front. Malarkey has point."

"Yes sir." Came the straightforward reply once again.

As the two soldiers turned to carry out their assigned duties, Ron nodded to Kim, who in turn motioned for the rest of their group to follow along. Together, the five of them resumed their march, this time in the company of two armed escorts, their spirits buoyed by the knowledge that finally, after more than four days on the run… a full 100 hours of endlessly marching through a hostile land… their hellish ordeal was very nearly over.

At long last… they were on their way home.

* * *

The roar of the main rotor barely penetrated her muddled senses as its rhythmic vibrations quickly quelled any attempt at conscious thought. Fatigue and a sudden adrenaline crash teamed with the beating of the blades to create a potent sedative, and to spite the ferociously uncomfortable seats afforded by the SH-60/B Seahawk helicopter she was now riding in, she found it nearly impossible to fight off the sweet shroud of sleep that was starting to envelop her.

For even heroes need their rest, and at this particular moment, the great Kim Possible had earned that rest more than any other hero currently in the business.

But still, her mind retained just enough awareness to take note of her surroundings. To the forward portion of the compartment their charges were huddled against the bulkhead, sleep having claimed them soon after takeoff. To the left side, across from the large cargo door, a young medic who had joined them soon after their arrival at the aid station sat on the cold steel floor of the chopper, silently pondering something of which she did not suppose to know.

And to her right, the greatest reason for their having lived to see this moment sat slumped against the rear bulkhead, head cocked to one side, mouth open, a faint trace of drool slowly making its way down from the corner of his lips. The look was almost comical in nature; from the disheveled mop of blond hair to the way he would shift and murmur every so often. Several times she was forced to suppress an urge to giggle. It was beyond endearing.

Truth be told however, he looked like hell; just as the rest of the group did, herself included she was certain. Four days of dodging trees and bullets without the benefit of a shower or a decent night's sleep had taken its toll on all of them. In Ron's case he bore the scratches and bruises from countless brushes with bushes and rocks, and the dirt upon his face was caked so thick that it nearly obscured his freckles. He looked like someone who had been put through the wringer… twice… then dumped back into the spin cycle for good measure. But never the less he was still standing… Still as strong and as brave as ever in her eyes.

She was so caught up drinking in every detail of his appearance that she didn't even notice when he stirred slightly and opened his eyes a crack. Suddenly, she found herself staring into those two cocoa-brown pools that held her heart so well, even if at the moment they happened to be surrounded ferociously dark bags.

"Hey." He whispered, flashing one of his trademark goofy grins.

"Hey yourself." She responded with a similar expression of her own. Their gloved hands quickly found their way into one another.

"So another one for the win column, huh?" Ron groggily pondered after several moments of silent eye gazing between the pair.

"Yeah, finally." Kim agreed, slumping back against the bulkhead and heaving a giant sigh. "And not a moment too soon either. I was beginning to think it was never gonna end."

"True that." Ron chuckled to himself. "Our very own version of the Never-Ending Story, that was. You know, I never though I'd actually be glad for a chopper ride like this."

"Still not a big fan of rotary wings, eh?"

"Yeah, but who knows." He shrugged. "Maybe I just need to get used to the idea. I mean they _obviously_ have their uses."

"That's the spirit." Kim said encouragingly. "Embrace new challenges."

"I guess." Ron grunted, stretching out a kink in his neck. "Although after this ride, I doubt I'll ever complain about flying commercial again."

"At least here the seats don't break." Kim observed with a smile, thinking back to the fiasco of flying to Greece and back. "So what are you going to do once we're back aboard ship?"

"Sleep for a week." Ron flatly stated. "Then I'm gonna roll over and take about a three-day nap. You?"

"Take the longest, hottest shower in the history of personal hygiene." Kim admitted with grin of utter longing. "And after that… probably the same as you."

"Sounds nice."

"You could stand for a good scrubbing yourself, by the way." She pointed out, licking her thumb and rubbing one of his cheeks for good measure. "Because while I love you and I mean this in the nicest and most caring way possible, you look like hell."

"Ugh! Seriously, KP!" Ron groaned, squirming away from his girlfriend's ministrations. "That's like totally something that my mother used to do!"

"Well you need it, dirty boy." She stated, ceasing with her efforts and allowing her boyfriend to calm down once more.

"Yeah, I guess your right." He sighed after returning to his seat. "I'll be sure to wash up before climbing into the rack."

"Good boy." Kim smiled, snaking one arm around his back and drawing him close. "Now it's a bumpy flight, so come over here and help a girl get comfortable."

It wasn't long before her head had found its familiar place on his shoulder, and both young heroes were fast asleep.

* * *

For someone whose mother was a physician, it seemed strange that she disliked doctor's offices so much.

Maybe it was the chilly temperature that such places were always kept at. With the risk of infectious disease perpetually at the forefront of people's minds, the air conditioning always seemed to be set somewhere between "meat locker" and "cryogenics." Or perhaps it was the loss of control that irked her… the sense of being on another person's turf where they held the leverage of authority and you yourself were reduced to a subservient role. Being the ordinarily take-charge person that she was, such circumstances never failed to rub her the wrong way.

Or then again, maybe it was the indignity of the examination process. Being essentially displayed on an elevated table while someone pokes and prods you with a scary-looking array of equipment would put one's mind to livestock being inspected for auction. The process was downright dehumanizing when you stopped to think about it. And when you spend twenty minutes sitting there waiting for the confounded doctor to finally show himself, once you're done perusing the stack of two-year-old magazines, there's little else to do but think about such things.

Or maybe it was the environment itself. With their steel surfaces, tile floors and various chrome-plated instruments, the sterile nature of medical facilities could often seem hostile to life far beyond that of the microbial variety. Any sense of warmth or welcome was wiped away by the high-grade antiseptics whose smell permeated the very air and seeped from every surface like some haunting specter of ultimate cleanliness.

"Good morning Miss Possible! And how are we today?"

Startled, Kim looked up at the young doctor with a distinct middle-eastern appearance who had just entered the room, wondering what right anyone had to be so cheery at this late of an hour.

Or early of an hour, she mentally added for her own reference. For in all honesty, she had actually lost track.

"Is it morning?" she weakly asked.

The doctor pulled back the sleeve of his white lab coat and checked his watch.

"Affirmative. By about an hour and twenty minutes to be exact." He confirmed.

Kim let out a lethargic groan in response.

"Well don't worry yourself too much. We know you've been through a lot recently, so we'll make this as quick as _possible_ for you." He chuckled lightly as the veiled pun… A gesture that Kim did not imitate.

_"Ahem._ Well then…" the doctor stammered. "Let's get started, shall we? Nurse Carter?"

A young woman, maybe a few years older than Kim and wearing blue scrubs, entered the room with a manila file folder tucked neatly under one arm.

"Did you call me, doctor?" she asked pleasantly.

"Why should I call _you_ doctor? _I'm_ the physician." The doctor giggled, leaving Miss Carter to stand there looking thoroughly unimpressed, and Kim thinking that she could get to like this young woman.

"Yes. Well, _(cough),_ did that medical history I asked for come in off the fax yet?" the doctor sheepishly asked.

"Right here, doctor." Nurse carter professionally stated, handing over the file.

"Ah! Excellent!" the doctor said, taking the offered folder and flipping through its contents. "Oh, and if you could prep the exam instruments for me, that'd be great."

"Very well sir." The nurse replied, turning to the counter that lined one side of the room and beginning her assigned task.

"Okay then. From your history, you seem to be the picture of health overall," the doctor said, turning his attention back to the redhead seated on the table before him, "but with everything you've been through recently we'll need to look you over and make sure everything's still as it should be."

"Yeah, okay. I can deal with that." Kim admitted with a sigh, resigning herself to the indignity of a comprehensive examination. "And not to change the subject or anything, but exactly where the heck am I anyway?" She had been more than a little tweaked at the lack of information since the Seahawk had unceremoniously deposited them topside on this anonymous vessel. No sooner were the wheels of the chopper on the deck then several crewmen had split up their group, whisking each one of them away in a different direction. Her own escort had simply led her down several decks and deposited her here in the overly-air conditioned exam room where she now sat, not saying more than four words to her during the entire process.

"Ah, good point. I do apologize for that. Some of our orderlies can be lacking in the 'people skills' department sometimes." The doctor conceded. "You're aboard the hospital ship Asclepius: Floating home of the best darn medical staff on the seven seas. My name is Doctor Apell Adai, but folks around here call me 'Hawkeye.'"

"No we don't." Nurse Carter interjected, casting a glance back over her shoulder.

"Well I'm trying to get them to." The doctor groused.

"Just ignore him. We all do." The nurse added, offering Kim a conspiratorial smile.

_Oh yeah. She **definitely** liked this gal._

"Moving on now." Doctor Adai grumbled, closing the file and casually tossing it onto the counter. "Let's start with a basic physical exam, and from there we can move this little party upstairs to the boys in x-ray. I hear they got some new machines last month and they're dying to find out what all the little buttons do."

"Swell." Kim dejectedly groaned. A long night was about to get even longer.

* * *

Who would have ever thought that something as simple as hot water could feel so good?

Standing beneath a cascade of steamy goodness, Kim felt like a completely new person. Days of dirt and sweat and battlefield grime were washed down the drain by the cleansing current, leaving behind a sensation of blissful cleanliness that she had nearly forgotten until that moment. Sore and overstressed muscles seemed to scream in delight as the luxurious heat and massaging pulses of the steamy stream brought both relief and relaxation. Yes, it felt more than wonderful to be clean again.

Although there were some things that couldn't be washed away with hot water and a bar of soap… No matter how hard one scrubbed.

It had barely been a week since they had received the call from Doctor Director outside the Middleton Smarty Mart, and yet it seemed to have been an entire lifetime ago now. She knew that she was not the same person now who had so willingly accepted the eye patch-clad crime czar's offer, to spite to obvious signs of concern. The sights she had seen on that island… The odors she had smelled… The sounds and screams she had heard… These were hers to carry now: A personal burden that would never leave her shoulders, no matter how dearly she may want to shed that load. Even now, safely aboard ship with a clean bill of health and an ocean separating her from the dangers of battle, the memories came to her. Like a deep infection that just won't be beaten, they resided on the periphery of her consciousness, waiting for unguarded moments to enter her mind and drag her back to that horrific, terrible place.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered involuntarily amidst the wafting clouds of steam. The waking nightmare she had endured had come home to roost, she knew full well, and it showed no intention of leaving anytime soon.

"Yo KP! Are you in here?"

The sudden intrusion caused her to jump nearly three feet in surprise. Clutching one hand to her chest in a desperate attempt to restart her heart, she pulled back the shower curtain with the other an peered out into the room, holding the flimsy vinyl sheet against herself for modesty's sake.

"What is it Ron?" she asked with just a little more annoyance in her voice than she would have liked.

"You got the conditioner in here?" he casually inquired. "Cause I've got this dry, flaky thing going on here, and…"

"It's in the bag on the counter." Kim pointed out, nodding toward the duffle that sat just beyond her reach. "Interior pocket, left side."

"Badical! Thanks!" he enthused, stepping over to rummage through the bag's contents.

The warm, soothing embrace of the shower beckoned from behind her, but she paid it no heed: The balance of her attention being transfixed by the sight before her. Standing less than three feet away and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped about his waist, the entirety of Ron's physique was on full display. The strong, lean muscles of his back… the supple lines of his biceps… the shoulders that had gained so much breadth since his enlistment. Joining the Eagles had certainly done his body good, even if he still insisted on hiding the fact with baggy clothes and poor posture most of the time.

Suddenly, Kim's mind flashed back to a different memory of their shared ordeal. It had seemed so inconsequential at the time: A simple daydream that she had savored during a break amongst the never-ending chain of crises that their trek had seemingly been. But now, that brief flight of fancy during an even more brief flight in a stolen helicopter came flooding back to her, and she suddenly found herself grappling with urges that she had not felt before… or at least, not to such levels of intensity.

Perhaps her difficulty stemmed from an inability to identify the source of her internal conflict. Biological issues, while certainly relevant to the question at hand, were not of primary concern to her. For the past two-plus years she had been, wither mother's blessing and prescription pad, on "the pill." It was a decision that had been made not so much out of concern for what "recreational activities" she may or may not have been engaging in, but rather as a means of regulating her personal cycle, which had always been the first casualty it seemed of her active lifestyle and irregular hours. The fact that she was protected should she and Ron ever decide to take that step was simply an added bonus.

No, the battle now raging inside of her was rooted in something much deeper than mere biology. This was a war waged over the question of emotional maturity, and of both their abilities to deal with the repercussions of taking that next step. On the one hand she comprehended the gravity that a thing such as giving one's self physically to another entailed, and she had ample reason to question whether two people as young as themselves were prepared to deal with the consequences of such actions. But on the other hand she understood that given their personal history together and the level of commitment they already shared, such an occurrence was more a question of "when" rather than "if." And if they were truly in this for the long haul, (as they showed every intention of being), then wasn't that proof enough that they were indeed ready? They had already given themselves to one another both mentally and spiritually. Compared against that back-story, giving themselves physically just seemed to be the logical conclusion.

It was all just so complex, and more than a brain working off four days of non-stop stress and sleep deprivation could handle. Decisions like this were best left to the mornings when one could enjoy the advantages of a good night's rest and a large cup of coffee. And yet here she was, standing like a statue, Ron literally within arm's reach and nothing separating them but a thin sheet of plastic and her own raging anxiety. How could she possibly know what to do? How could she even be sure that her actions would lead to _there?_ The blanks in her logic were oft and wide, and the only thing she could be certain of was the uncertainty of it all.

In the end there was only one thing that she could be certain of: That she wanted him… _needed_ him… perhaps now more than ever. It was the only thing she knew at the moment, and she knew that to her own heart she must be true.

Without conscious thought, as if moving of its own volition, her hand shot out across the space between them and latched onto the towel across the small of his back. The startled yelp that escaped his lips only spurred her desire ever deeper as she tugged him back toward her, fairly dragging him into the cramped stall, allowing the flimsy curtain to fall closed behind them.

His feeble attempts at protestation were cut short as two luscious lips were firmly pressed against his own, effectively silencing all dissent. With Kim pressing herself up against him he soon found himself backed into a corner, his towel diminished to a soggy mess strewn across the shower floor. Brown eyes rolled back in their sockets and synapses fired randomly, attempting to bring sense to flood of physical and emotional stimulation now bombarding them. It took several seconds for the higher centers of his brain to recover from the full system spike they had just endured, but when his faculties reclaimed him once again, he firmly pushed the lithe and amorous form away from himself and heaved a ragged breath.

"Kim! Wait! Just wait!"

Green eyes suddenly fell, a feeling of guilt, shame and impending doom burning fiercely behind them. Had she gone too far? Been too forward perhaps? Were they really not ready? What else could possibly have Ron so freaked?

Her answer came after the young man before her finally caught his breath.

"Not that this isn't totally badical or anything, because it totally is." He managed to stammer. "But if this is going where I really think it's going, there's just one thing I need to know."

Kim could only stare apprehensively at the floor, nervously watching the water pooling at their feet. An entire lifetime of hope and longing hung on whatever Ron said next. She had gone out on a limb, leaving herself vulnerable in a way that she had never exposed herself before, and now Ron held in his hands the power to utterly break her, perhaps without even realizing that fact. Whatever happened within the next few seconds would bring with it either affirmation of her greatest hopes and dreams, or emotional devastation and despair.

And so when Ron finally spoke, she held her breath… both longing and terror hanging on every syllable he breathed.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

She only had to think for a moment before answering.

"More than anything I've ever wanted before... yes."

For several moments Ron stared thoughtfully down into the two glimmering, expectant pools of emerald green before him, as if carefully considering her answer. Then, lowering his gaze, he smiled warmly and gently touched his forehead to hers.

"Then that's all I need to know."

And with that their lips were joined once more, faces and bodies pressed against one another, tongues probing and fighting for dominance. Turning to place herself against the wall Kim slipped her arms around her lover's neck and wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing herself up to cradle his head within the valley of her chest and allow the ticklish warmth of his breath to linger there. She reveled in the sensation as his arms as they enveloped her, clutching her tight against himself, the water cascading over them. She did not know for certain where this road would ultimately lead, and to be perfectly honest, at that moment she could not have cared less. All that mattered was that wherever the road led, _he_ would be with her… his support carrying her… his love sustaining her. As far as she was concerned, it was through him that all things were possible for a Possible: Achieving unfathomable heights, carried aloft on an Eagle's wings. She was a force of nature… an unstoppable bastion of strength… a source of hope for millions… a fire and a storm wind… and the only name she would ever know, or would ever need to know, was his.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I don't know about you all, but after writing that last scene, I think I need a shower myself. _(Whew lordy!)_

Now while we all take a moment to breathe deep and let our collective pulses settle, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has been faithfully following along with this little tale of ours for all these months. It truly touches me to see the people who my humble words have reached, and for all of the reviews with their wonderful words of encouragement, I can't say thank you enough. Special kudos go out to the likes of Katsumara, Cajun Bear 73, C. P. Neb, LTAOZFAN, Comet Moon, Screaming Phoenix, Osprey 2000, Ormagoden and Eddy 13. These guys have been virtual reviewing machines, offering their take on nearly every chapter since I set out on this epic literary quest. Now _that's _dedication to the craft, folks!

Additionally, I'd like to offer special thanks to both Hang Tuah and Sentinel 103. As my betas for this story they've been invaluable as both proof readers and sounding boards for every crazy, half-baked idea that my warped mind came up with. Mad props, fellas… Seriously couldn't have done it without you!

And now for our FDA recommended daily allotment of technical mumbo-jumbo…

_Who's Who:_ For those who are familiar with my previous work, you no doubt already suspect that the names of the soldiers in this chapter are not of my own creation. For those of you who are _not_ familiar with my previous work… Pay attention, snoozy!

The men mentioned by name in this chapter are all quite real: Real soldiers who really fought in real battles many years ago. Specifically, these men were members of the American 101st Airborne Division, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 2nd Battalion, E Company, during the Second World War: Paratroopers who jumped into Normandy during the pre-dawn hours of June 6th, 1944 to seize vital crossroads and secure the western flank of the massive amphibious invasion that would come mere hours later.

Captain Richard D. Winters was a Pennsylvania farm boy who enlisted in the Army four months before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Deciding that the allure of the Airborne appealed to him, he transferred to the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment at Camp Toccoa, Georgia in August of 1942. He was assigned to E Company soon after.

At the time of the Normandy invasion, then First Lieutenant Winters was assigned as the commanding officer of "Easy Company's" first platoon. Fate would have other plans for him however, as the aircraft carrying Easy's command post personnel, including company commander First Lieutenant Thomas Meehan III, was brought down by German anti-aircraft fire that night, killing all on board. With the bulk of the company's senior officers now dead, Winters was quickly given a battlefield promotion and was soon commanding all of Easy Company.

From the beaches of Normandy, to the ill-fated "Market Garden" offensive to the desperate defense of Bastogne during the "Battle of the Bulge," Winters led Easy Company through all the horrors of war, being promoted along the way to the rank of Captain, and eventually Major. He would later serve in a planning role during the Korean Conflict, but while scheduled for deployment to Asia, his orders were later rescinded and he never left America. Today, Major Winters is retired and lives a humble lifestyle in Hershey, Pennsylvania, not far from the town of Lancaster where he grew up: A peaceful existence for an old warrior.

_Lipton & Liebgott:_ Second Lieutenant Carwood Lipton was born and raised in Huntington, West Virginia. Although his early childhood appeared to be quite typical, his life changed dramatically at the age of ten when an automobile accident killed his father and left his mother paralyzed. As the eldest child, young Carwood accepted his mother's instructions to be "the man of the family" and was soon doing what he could to support his siblings. He completed high school and one year at Huntington's Marshall University, but financial troubles at home soon forced him to drop out and find work in a local war production factory.

And it was while working an anonymous assembly line job that Carwood read an article in Life Magazine that changed his life. The author spoke of the Army's new Airborne Corps, and how such men were the best of the best: The most elite troops in the entire U.S. Military. For young Carwood, it was something he simply had to be a part of.

Quickly shooting through the ranks, Lipton was a jumpmaster on one of the transports flying into Normandy that night, and received a battlefield promotion to First Sergeant. Known for keeping the spirits of his men high and pushing them to their full potential, Sergeant Lipton and his platoon played instrumental roles in such famous operations as the assault of Brecourt Manor and the capture of Carentan, a vital crossroads situated between the Utah and Omaha Beachheads.

Lipton was promoted to Second Lieutenant following the siege of Foy during the Battle of the Bulge. Later, he would participate in the liberation of a concentration camp at Landsberg and help capture the symbolic home of the Nazi Party in Bercthesgaden.

Following the war, Lipton re-enrolled at Marshall and finally earned the engineering degree he had been forced to abandon nearly a decade before. His service to his country would continue through the Korean War as part of the Army Reserve, but never again would he be deployed overseas. Diagnosed later in life with pulmonary fibrosis, he died on December 16th of 2001 at his home in Southern Pines, North Carolina.

Technician Fifth Grade Joseph D. Liebgott Jr. was the son of Jewish immigrants from Germany who enrolled their children in Catholic school to hide their Jewish heritage. As an early adult he worked as a barber: a vocation that would later serve him well providing haircuts to his fellow soldiers at a rate of 15 cents per head.

Widely known as a competent soldier and a loyal friend, Liebgott earned a bronze star for his actions at Brecourt Manor, manning a machine gun with Private Cleveland Petty during the operation. Later he would add a Purple Heart to his collection of awards when he was wounded during Operation Market Garden.

Fluent in German, his language skills made him an invaluable asset to his commanders in the field, but his Jewish heritage was a source of much resentment toward the enemy and he was know for inflicting harsh treatment on prisoners. In one instance, when tasked by Captain Winters with escorting 11 prisoners back to the company command post, Winters cleared all but one round from Liebgott's M-1Garand rifle, making a point of telling him that if he shot one prisoner, then the other ten would undoubtedly turn on him. On another occasion, he bragged to a fellow soldier about stealing a ring from a dead German soldier by cutting the dead man's finger off with a bayonet, even going so far as to show off the souvenir to his companion.

And in yet another incident, Liebgott and three other members of Easy Company sought out an officer of the Waffen Schutzstaffel who had commanded a forced labor camp for Jewish prisoners. Tracking him to his home, Liebgott interrogated the man intensely for more than 30 minutes before shooting him twice. Wounded, the German tried to flee and Liebgott ordered paratrooper Don Moone to finish him off. Moone refused the order to execute the fleeing man, at which point trooper Wayne Sisk volunteered and shot the German dead with one round from his Garand rifle.

Following the war, Liebgott moved to San Francisco and settled back into civilian life. Finding work as a cab driver, he soon returned to his roots of barbering and moved south to the Los Angeles area where he eventually married and had eight sons. He died on June 28th of 1992, having lived a quiet life in which he rarely spoke of his war experiences.

_Shifty Powers:_ Staff Sergeant Darrell "Shifty" Powers was born on March 13th of 1923 in Clinchco, Virginia. He spent much of his time growing up in the rural backwoods of Virginia, hunting and fishing and developing the outdoor skills that would ultimately serve him well in the military. He enlisted for military service at Richmond, Virginia on August 14th of 1942.

Widely regarded as the best marksman in all of Easy Company, his skills became legendary during the capture of Foy when he killed a German sniper with one shot from nearly 300 yards away. In another instance during the Battle of the Bulge, he pointed out to Captain Winters that there was a grove of trees about a mile distant with one tree that hadn't been there the day before. Closer inspection revealed the "tree" to be a camouflaged German artillery gun, and counter-fire from Allied artillery was soon able to eliminate the threat. It is unknown how many Allied lives would have been lost if Powers had not spotted the one tree amongst an entire forest that didn't belong.

After the war, Powers returned to his childhood home of Clinchco and became a machinist for the Clinchfield Coal Corporation. He died of cancer on June 17th of 2009.

_Malarkey & Guarnere:_ Born in Astoria, Oregon on July 31st of 1921, Technical Sergeant Donald G. Malarkey was a natural-born athlete growing up, excelling as a point guard on his school's basketball team. Following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, he attempted to enlist with both the Marines and the Army Air Corps, but was rejected both times for various reasons. Drafted into the Army in July of 1942, he quickly volunteered for the paratroopers after reading an article about them in Reader's Digest. He was transferred to Camp Toccoa and by that autumn had earned his jump wings.

To spite spending more time on the front line than any other member of Easy Company, Malarkey was never seriously wounded. His service took him from Normandy through Operation Market Garden, the Battle of the Bulge, the Ruhr Pocket of Germany and Haugenau, France.

Following the war, Malarkey returned to the University of Oregon to complete the business degree that he had abandoned with the start of the war in 1941. He eventually married and fathered four children, becoming a real estate agent and settling in Portland, Oregon.

Now living in Salem, Oregon, Malarkey speaks extensively about his war experiences to high school students and at civic functions.

Staff Sergeant William J. "Wild Bill" Guarnere was the youngest of ten children, growing up in Philadelphia and attending South Philadelphia High School. With the attack on Pearl Harbor, young William left school and took a job at the Baldwin Locomotive Works, which by that point was retooling to produce Sherman tanks for the military. His mother objected to him neglecting his education in such a way however, and he soon transferred to the night shift so that he could both work and attend classes.

His position at the factory afforded him a work exemption from military service, but he chose not to use it, deciding instead to enlist in the paratroopers. Soon, he was in basic training at Camp Toccoa, and soon after that he was jumping into Normandy.

Known by his fellow paratroopers as "Wild Bill" for his aggressive demeanor in the face of enemy action, Guarnere harbored a deep hatred of the German army who he held responsible for the death of his brother during the Allies' Italian Campaign. After being wounded in the leg while in the Netherlands, Guarnere smeared black shoe polish on his cast and, to spite excruciating pain, attempted to sneak out of a military hospital and rejoin Easy Company. An alert orderly stopped him and he was demoted to private for the attempted escape. When informed of this disciplinary action, he informed his doctors that he would simply go AWOL if that's what it would take to rejoin his unit. The hospital staff took the hint, and he was released back to Easy Company in December of 1944, just before the company was redeployed to Belgium during the Battle of the Bulge.

Digging in around the frozen crossroads of Bastogne, Easy Company soon found itself surrounded on all sides by a determined enemy. Subjected to intense shelling, Guarnere responded one afternoon to cries of help from fellow paratrooper Joe Toye who had been wounded by shell fragments. While dragging Toye to safety, Guarnere himself was wounded. As a result of their injuries, both men lost their right legs.

Honorably discharged from military service following his injury, Guarnere returned to the United States and for a while made a living for himself performing odd jobs with the help of a prosthetic leg. When his veteran's disability pension came through however, he threw the artificial limb away and retired. Today he writes extensively about his experiences during the war and is an active member of several veterans' organizations.

_Colonel Sink:_ Colonel Robert F. Sink was the commanding officer of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment from July of 1942 until the end of hostilities in Europe, making him the immediate superior officer to Captain Winters and Easy Company.

Following the end of the war in Europe, Colonel Sink was promoted to General and given command of the entire 101st Airborne Division. In December of 1945 he returned home to the United States and served for three-and-a-half years as commander of the infantry detachment for the United States Military Academy at West Point. Later, he would serve as Assistant Commander of the Seventh Infantry Division during the Korean Conflict.

In later years, General Sink would command such units as the 11th Airborne Division, Seventh Armored Division, 44th Infantry Division, 18th Airborne Corps and the Strategic Army Corps of the United States Army. His last assignment before retirement was command of all American military forces in Panama.

A career soldier if there ever was one, General Sink retired from military service in 1961 and died on December 13th, 1965.

For a wealth of information on the exploits of the 101st Airborne and the men of Easy Company in particular, check out the HBO mini-series "Band of Brothers," or pick up the book of the same name by Stephen Ambrose. You'll be glad you did!

_Things That Make You Go Boom:_ Alrighty then! Time to get down to the nitty-gritty and talk _hardware!_

The scale-like vest that Kim noticed is a recently developed item that is only just now being delivered to American troops in the field. Known as "Dragon Skin," it's essentially a next-generation bulletproof vest incorporating elements of both hard and soft body armor.

The core of a Dragon Skin vest is essentially the same as a traditional vest, with layered sheets of Kevlar fabric set inside an outer casing of weatherproof nylon. The difference comes when overlapping discs of ultra-hard and ultra-light ceramic are placed over the Kevlar foundation in an interlocked pattern. These discs provide a hard-yet-flexible outer shell capable of defeating most anti-personnel ordinance currently in use. The majority of a bullet's energy is deflected by the hard ceramic, and any energy left over is absorbed and dispersed by the Kevlar backing.

Even high-caliber rifle rounds that would tear clean through a normal vest are unable to penetrate the one-two combination of hard and soft materials. Currently, there are even stories filtering out of Iraq and Afghanistan about U.S. soldiers with dragon skin vests being shot and not realizing it until later.

Now as for the weapons Kim noticed… This is where things get slightly complex.

The first rifle she describes is something that's part real, part conceptual and part figment of my own imagination. The concept of placing the magazine and receiver group in the stock of a weapon rather than the traditional position ahead of the trigger assembly is a recent but real design feature. Known as a "bullpup" design, it has the effect of reducing a weapon's recoil, improving accuracy, while at the same time making the weapon more maneuverable by reducing overall length. Currently, the armed forces of Great Britain deploy a bullpup rifle in the form of the Enfield SA-80 and its modernized variant, the L-85/A2.

The addition of a grenade launcher beneath the rifle barrel is also a real design feature, with rifles such as the American M-203 and the German AG-36 being excellent examples of the concept.

Successfully combining the two concepts together into a single weapon however, is a challenge that military designers have yet to meet. Several development attempts have been made involving different configurations and calibers, perhaps most notably involving the U.S. Military's XM-8 program, which used a 20-millimeter grenade launcher on a quick-release, over-under mount. However, while the design was successful in reducing the weapon's size and weight, the 20-millimeter round proved too small to be effective when fired in an air burst configuration, and the project died when the XM-8 program was canceled in favor of the M-4 Carbine. Still, firearms designers continue to pursue the concept, and so with their designs and a little imagination I was able to concoct something that resembles what I believe a working prototype would look like.

The second weapon that Kim sees is something that any active or recently discharged member of a NATO-affiliated military would recognize. The M-249 Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) is a light machine gun developed for the fast-moving battlefields of the modern military environment. Small and light, the SAW can be carried and deployed by a single soldier under almost any battlefield condition. The weapon is chambered for the same 5.56x45-millimeter ammunition used by the standard M-16 and M-4 Carbine infantry rifle, making re-supply easy, and a 100-round box magazine can provide withering cover fire for extended periods. Its light weight and multiple grip configurations mean it can be fired effectively from either a standing, sitting, crouching or prone position, and a folding bi-pod provides a steady base and improved accuracy in most situations.

The final weapon that Kim takes note of is something I'm sure all fans of the television series Stargate SG-1 will instantly recognize. The FN P-90 is a 5.7x28-millimeter sub machine gun manufactured by the Belgian firearms firm F. N. Herstal. Developed in the late 1980s as a compact yet powerful weapon for vehicle drivers and operators of crew-served weapons, the unique and futuristic-looking weapon soon became a favorite of support personnel, special forces and anti-terrorist units the world over.

Short and boxy, the P-90 features such innovations as a dual-sided cocking knob and a firing mechanism that ejects spent cartridges straight down, making this a truly ambidextrous weapon. (It was this second feature that caught the attention of Stargate producers, as downward ejection meant that actors could stand in close proximity to one another on set without the risk of injury from flying shells.)

Beyond its obvious utility, the P-90's 5.7.x28 cartridge had greater penetrating power when compared to the pistol ammunition fired by conventional submachine guns, and with a top-loading 50-round box magazine, it boasts nearly twice the ammo capacity of most comparable weapons.

Today the P-90 is in use by more than 40 different countries around the world with unknown others still considering its potential.

And finally, the small video monitor that Kim spots in the dark isn't for checking the basketball scores folks. (Although it could probably do that too.) This is just one component of a system that has been under development by the U.S. Military since 1989.

Known by the project name "Land Warrior," this program represents the American military's attempt to bring the modern world of high-tech weaponry to the common foot soldier in the field. Intended to utilize both existing military equipment and commercially available off-the-shelf (COTS) technology, the first prototype was built by Exponent Engineering of San Jose, California using original software and hardware components purchased at a local retail electronics store.

At the heart of the Land Warrior system lays a wearable computer mounted within the soldier's field pack. Containing the system memory and central processing unit, this base unit is connected to several peripheral devices including a global positioning transponder, satellite communications array, miniature keyboard (strapped to the soldier's left forearm), and helmet-mounted hardware such as LED spotlights, night vision camera, adjustable microphone, earpiece and flip down monocle-type monitor for receiving visual information.

Perhaps the most important aspect of the system is the communication software, as this program allows the soldier to share all relevant personal data, such as GPS co-ordinates, video records, voice communications and text messages with not only all the other members of his unit, but also the officers back at his command post. This information can then be processed, combined with information from other sources, and fed back to the soldier in the form of a complete battlefield overview that he can access via a secure, wireless network connection. Maps and other data can be viewed on the monocle while voice communication can be carried out over the microphone and earpiece. The soldier will know exactly where he is at all times, as well as where friendly units are located, and where enemy positions have been reported as well.

The final advantage of the Land Warrior system involves the infantryman's weapon, which is fitted with a special electro-optical sight. By linking the sight to the computer through a Bluetooth connection, visual information collected by the sight can be transmitted to the monocle on the soldier's helmet. With this system active, a soldier can look around corners and engage enemy forces without ever exposing himself to return fire. Only the weapon itself need be extended over or around whatever obstacle might be providing cover. _(Peek-a-boo! You can't see me but I can see you!)_

_Sikorsky SH-60 Seahawk:_ Developed from the Army's UH-60 Blackhawk utility helicopter, the Seahawk is a twin-engine multi-role helicopter currently deployed by the U.S. Navy. Small but with surprising payload capacity, the Seahawk can operate from the decks of destroyers, cruisers, frigates and aircraft carriers… Basically any ship with a helipad.

Originally placed into service with few modifications compared to the original Blackhawk, the SH-60/A soon proved to suffer from several design flaws. Sikorsky engineers were quick to respond however, moving the aft landing gear forward by 13 feet to shrink the craft's overall footprint, and adding a folding tail boom, folding horizontal stabilizers and a power-folding man rotor: All of which are invaluable features when operating from the cramped spaces of a ship. Other modifications include the replacement of the left side cargo door with a solid wall and window, corrosion-resistant paint for protection against harsh marine environments and the addition of a cable winch above the right side door for rescue and recovery missions. Together, these changes resulted in the aircraft being re-designated the SH-60/B, and it has been flying in this configuration ever since.

And so, after four days on the run and a thousand and one close calls, our heroes have finally made it out… alive and relatively intact to boot. Once again I would like to thank everyone who has stuck with me throughout this little tale: Even when the well dried up and the updates were slow in coming. You guys are so far beyond rocking that it's almost funny.

And the fun's not over yet! There will be a brief epilogue following this chapter and you're all invited to stick around for the big finale… So don't you go a' changing just yet.

As always, drop a review… get a reply. Still the best deal in the business.

Take care, one and all!

_Nutzkie…_


	16. A Darkened Past and a Brighter Future

**Usual Legal Crapola:**

Alright… alright! I realize that nobody likes disclaimers. As literary devices go they're akin to a speed bump in your driveway, and in terms of enjoyment they rank somewhere between watching linoleum peel and being examined by a proctologist with bad depth perception.

However, the "House of Mouse" has a great many lawyers, and with their recent purchase of Marvel Comics they also have the X-Men, who I have been assured will personally come and kick my ass if I don't print this. So if we'll all just settle down and listen up, we can get through this quickly and move on to the reason that we're _really_ here.

Kim Possible and all related matters are the sole property the Disney Corporation and their small army of attorneys. All rights are reserved by and for them. I personally get nothing out of this project, except for maybe a sense of personal satisfaction and the chance to look busy at my computer. (What the boss doesn't know, yadda yadda yadda…)

Any attempts to profit from the ideas and images contained herein will be met with malicious action of a litigious nature, and any other big, scary-sounding legal words I can think of. No purchase necessary, see store for details, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, _so there!_

On with the show…

* * *

**~ Chapter Sixteen ~**

It just seemed so foreign.

When it came to her normal routine, something like this simply wasn't part of the program. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the power of appearance, mind you. Far from it, her fashion-conscious ways had long-since instilled in her a deep and abiding respect for the ability of appearance and perception to shape circumstances. It was just that her strong upbringing and well-rounded lifestyle had left her the sort of person who didn't spend countless hours sitting in front of a mirror obsessing over her own reflection. To put it simply, vanity was not a part of her personal style. And yet now, looking into that same mirror and seeing the shimmering image staring back at her, she was forced to admit a surprising truth…

She made this look _good._

The floor-length gown had been picked out with Monique's help, and as always the ebony-skinned fashion maven's judgment had been unimpeachable. The silk and linen garment of royal and sky blue was nothing short of a work of art, being elegant without crossing the line into ostentatious, accentuating every line and curve of her slender, athletic frame, and providing just a touch of enhancement to her admittedly meager bust line. She doubted that it could have fit her more perfectly, even if it had been custom tailored from scratch.

With her hair drawn up in a set of elegant tresses that hung reminiscently of graduation night and her emerald eyes framed by a pair of simple pearl earrings, the look was completed by a single string of pearls snugly encircling her neck. She was the very image of womanhood: Simple, stunning, elegant, and bearing a subdued self-confidence that informed everyone as to the inner strength that hid beneath her soft and feminine exterior.

In a way, this sparkling image of a young woman in her prime was fittingly emblematic of all the events which had precipitated its coming into being. When she had first arrived in this land over a month before, she had been a very different person. Far from the woman who was now staring back at her from the far side of the mirror, she had been a starry-eyed and naive little girl by comparison. And as is usually the case with such youthful innocence, she had been blissfully unaware of just how far her naiveté extended: No sense of just how much she had to learn.

It sometimes seemed as though an entire lifetime had passed since she had stepped from the surf and onto these shores under cover of night. So much had transpired in the ensuing weeks that she even now found it difficult to remember some aspects of her former self. The young girl she had been seemed so distant now. Notions of things like justice and fairness had been swept clean away by the cold harshness of reality laid bare, just as had the lives and livelihoods of countless young people who had also come to these very same shores, and who now would never leave: Their bodies consigned to become part of the soil over which they fought, their graves to be one day forgotten, and all because they had accepted a job that they likely did not comprehend, and became swept up by circumstances beyond their control.

She was lucky. She knew this full well. With all she had been through she should be dead a dozen times over. And while in fact such circumstances were nothing new to her, the uniqueness of the situation still left her with a sense of utter amazement. It meant little that defying the odds was practically a family tradition, if not a family mantra: The phrase "anything is possible" being taken seriously within her household, and taken at face value as well. The ability to cheat death in such fashion, time and time again, meant little when the ante was upped in the way that it had been. It had been a whole new ball game this time around, and _that_ sort of odds-beating required something much more special.

"Hey KP. Can you give me a hand with this stupid thing?"

_And there he was, right on cue._

Turning from the mirror toward the door of the luxurious bedroom suite that was hers for the duration of their stay, her breath hitched as she beheld the sight before her. It wasn't often that she got to see her man in full dress uniform, and the rare occasions when she did only served to remind her that it wasn't nearly often enough. The way the fitted jacket and vest enveloped his chest offered just a hint of how much he had filled out over the past year-and-a-half was beyond flattering, and the bleach-white hat with "scrambled eggs" upon its brim stood out in stark contrast to the dark blue material below it. From the buttons on his cuffs to the medals on his chest to the sterling silver scabbard that hung from his belt, the glint of precious metal was everywhere. Everything about him was stunningly immaculate, representing just how much he had accomplished in such a short period of time.

Everything, that was, except for the disheveled mess of fabric that currently dangled pathetically from his neck, presenting a sorry impression of a necktie.

"Still haven't gotten the hang of those things, huh?" she sighed with a smile.

"Yeah, guess not." Ron groaned, dejectedly fingering the aforementioned item. "Think you could lend an assist?"

"Isn't that usually Rufus's department?"

"Ordinarily yeah. But I dispatched the little guy downstairs to run recon on the buffet."

"You've got Rufus scouting the dining room?"

"Well yeah. Good intelligence is vital to any operation, you know."

If it were anyone else saying that, she would have thought it strange.

"All right. C'mere and let me see." She said, motioning for her boyfriend to stand in front of her. Dutifully, Ron did as instructed and Kim was soon at work undoing the virtual bird's nest that encircled his neck and reassembling the thing into something more recognizable.

But the task proved more difficult than usual, with her thoughts soon being distracted by other matters.

Being in such close proximity to Ron was nothing new. When you spend most of a lifetime growing up and traveling the world with someone, you occasionally find yourselves sharing tight quarters after all. Between flying in cramped cargo planes, crawling through air ducts, hiding in storage rooms and riding on a beat-up scooter, there had been plenty of times when "personal space" had been more of an abstract concept than a functional reality. But that was then: before everything had changed.

Ever since that first night back from the island, things had been different. Before, Ron had been a source of solace and comfort for her: his silent strength sustaining her through each and every ordeal, his unwavering support driving her onward. He was an emotional anchor to keep her grounded in reality and a well of strength from which she could draw whenever life became too much for her.

But now, in the wake of their first true night together, he had become so much more. Where once she had needed him only in an emotional and spiritual sense, now her desires ran far deeper. She had a physical need for him now: A need to simply be near him; to know he was within arms reach. The experience of being finally joined in their love… of feeling him next to her… around her… inside of her… had left a deep and lasting impression upon the very essence of her soul.

Upon their return to Middleton, the changes had been both dramatic and immediate. At night, safely tucked within her own bed, she had found sleep to be an elusive quarry. Tossing and turning in interminable fashion, she found herself craving his presence, both her mind and body unsettled by the empty space beside her. She had been reluctant to reach for the sleeping aids at first, but soon relented, as it proved the only viable solution.

Daylight proved to be only marginally better, with her spending the entire day either with him or wishing she was with him. She was certain that her mother, ever the observant one in their family, had noticed the sudden change in behavior, and she suspected that the elder redhead had also surmised the cause. But to the Possible matriarch's credit however, she had as yet said nothing on the subject.

But Kim wasn't fooled. She knew that her mother's capacity for tact only extended so far. If she didn't broach the subject soon, then her mother would be certain to take the initiative, and in either case, a highly awk-weird mother-daughter conversation was bound to follow.

Yes, it was becoming abundantly clear that their relationship had turned yet another corner. And while she didn't regret her decision to be with Ron in that way, nor would she ever trade the experience for anything in the world, its repercussions and their echoes were proving a far more difficult challenge than anything she could have ever imagined. Ron had once absently observed that love was complicated. If only she had known how right he was.

"Hell-_looooooh!_ Earth to KP!"

"Huh?" She grunted, startling herself out of her momentary daydream.

"You totally spaced out on me there for a sec." Ron concernedly pointed out. "Everything alright?"

"Oh, yeah. Everything's fine. I was just thinking of something." She replied honestly, yet vaguely. As her lifelong friend and more recent lover, there were few if any secrets she had from Ron. But somehow she wasn't ready to bring him in on her latest issue just yet. That particular set of complications could wait for a more opportune time. Quickly, as if to distract herself from any further thoughts on the subject, she began the work of sorting out the snarled mess that was her boyfriend's tie.

"Hey Ron?" she asked as she worked, sniffing the air heavily.

"Hmmmm?"

"Is that a new cologne you're wearing?"

"Meh, kinda-sorta." Ron admitted with a shrug. "I ran out of my usual stock, so I had to improvise."

"Improvise?"

"Yeah, you know. Mixing together whatever I had on hand."

"So what formula did you wind up with?"

"Well by the time I was done, it was pretty much a blend of Old Spice, Aqua Velva, Windex and some stuff that's supposed to get spots out of carpets." He replied, scratching his head as he recalled each ingredient. "You might want to be careful when kissing me." He added after a thoughtful pause.

"Or standing near an open flame." Kim panned with a smirk. "But it _does_ smell nice at least."

"Hey, I go with what works."

"Uh-huh. And speaking of stuff that works, how's _that_ work for you, mister mix-a-lot?"

Looking down to check his girlfriend's handiwork, Ron was duly impressed.

"Wow! Not too shabby, KP!" he enthused. "Good length… And the knot is perfectly systematic!"

"That's _'symmetrical'_ Ron."

"That too!"

Kim couldn't help but cough out a chuckle at Ron's semantic antics. And in all honesty, at that moment she needed the distraction. Between the opulent surroundings, Ron's close proximity and the thoughts that had been racing through her head only moments before, it was all she could do to resist the urge to grab her boyfriend by his lapels, throw him down on the suite's king-sized bed and have her way with him right then and there.

But such amorous activities were not in the cards for this night: At least not just now. Not when they were set to attend a royal banquet as the guests of honor. Digging deep for every ounce of willpower she could muster, Kim pushed such impure thoughts to the back of her mind and focused on the task at hand. They were due to be announced downstairs in just a few minutes and it most certainly would not pay to be late.

"So, are we ready to go then?" she asked, taking one final check of the mirror before rising to her feet, giving her boyfriend his first good look at Monique's chosen ensemble.

"Wow!" Was the only word he could muster when confronted by the shimmering spectacle.

"Wow yourself." Kim replied with a slight blush, taking note of just _how_ well he carried that uniform.

Straightening his spine and stepping to his girlfriend's side, Kim caught the slightest glimpse of a playful smile crossing his face.

"My dear lady," he loftily asked, offering his arm, "would you do me the honor of accompanying me to a formal gala this night?"

"My dear sir, the honor would be all mine." She replied with a smile, gracefully taking the offered arm.

And with a shared, loving grin between them, they stepped through the ornate double-doors of their accommodations and headed for the palatial grand staircase.

* * *

"Well this place sure cleaned up nice."

Silently nodding, Kim had to admit that her boyfriend was spot on the money with his observation. Growing up in a house with her brothers' penchant for destruction had left her no stranger to contractors, and over the years she had acquired a deep appreciation for just how fast and how thorough such skilled tradesmen could be when the situation called for it.

But _this…_ Whoever had been responsible for this job had obviously been packing some serious game.

When they had last seen the grand ballroom, it had been a smoldering wreck of smashed furniture and crumbling walls. But now, little more than a month later, all signs of that battle had been erased. Along the far side of the room, the gaping hole through which they had fled the palace was now once again a finely plastered wall, accented by a pair of ornate doors leading to the outside veranda. Shattered floor tiles had been replaced and scorch marks upon the walls had been skillfully scrubbed and painted over, leaving no evidence of the struggle that had taken place there. They both scanned the room carefully, searching for any sign of the fight they knew had occurred on that spot, but even with the advantage of knowing exactly where to look and what to look for, not a solitary trace was to be found.

Noting the skilled craftsmanship and impressive attention to detail, their own attention was suddenly drawn to the floor by a small pink form darting amongst the mingling guests. Chittering excitedly as he crossed the polished marble surface, Rufus quickly made his way over to the teens where Ron scooped him up to hold him at eye level.

"Report." He instructed, prompting his pet to enter into an elaborate pantomime dance of exaggerated gestures and dramatic squeaks, reminding Kim somewhat of a worker bee informing his queen of where the nearby flowers were located.

"The frittatas on the long table are good… got it. And the deviled eggs are passable if not taken internally. Good to know." He observed, skillfully interpreting the rodent's complex movements. "Beverages are back in the corner… Marinated veggies over by the ice sculpture… The hummus gets four out of five stars, and… _Ohmigosh!_ Fondue fountain at ten o'clock!"

Immediately placing an equally enthusiastic Rufus on the epaulette of his uniform coat, he turned to his left, threw his shoulders back and dramatically thrust a declaratory finger skyward.

"Take no prisoners!" he cried.

"Hurk… _Cheeee-yaaaaaaarge!"_ Rufus whole-heatedly concurred, leaving Kim to smile in amusement as the pair set off through the crowd on a quest for dairy-based glory.

Content for the moment to let the two most important men in her life stage new culinary conquests, Kim moved over to the bar for some liquid refreshment. She had just ordered an orange juice and ginger ale, (yet another strange taste that she had picked up over the years), when a familiar high-pitched voice called out from the crowd behind her.

"Greetings Miss Possible. And how are we this fine evening?"

"Oh, hey Wally." Kim genuinely smiled as she turned to face the young Prince. It had been surprising to find that in the aftermath of their epic ordeal, the young royal was not nearly so annoying as in the past. Perhaps the experiences they had faced had actually changed him for the better, or perhaps after going through that kind of Hell, annoying personalities just didn't seem like such a big deal anymore. Either way, she would take what she was getting.

"Everything's been beyond wonderful so far." She replied. "It's totally amazing what you've done with this place."

"Yes, well when your Father is the King, things tend to get done in a hurry." He shrugged and smiled. "As one of your country's comedians once observed, 'it's good to be the King.'"

"Yeah, I can see how that would be the case." Kim agreed, glancing about the room in confirmation.

"So exactly where, may I ask, is your partner on this festive occasion?"

"Over there," Kim nodded toward the buffet, "assaulting Hamburger Hill with a side of barbecue sauce."

"Hmmm. He always _was_ enthusiastic when it came to culinary matters, wasn't he?"

"Don't you know it?" Kim sighed, good-naturedly. "Soooooo, what have you been up to since all the excitement died down?"

"Back to the bubble." Wally sighed dejectedly, his face falling to reveal his utter disappointment with current circumstances. "It's strange when you think about it, but with all the renovations the palace looks better now than I ever remember, and yet I only seem to be more dissatisfied with it all."

"Dissatisfied?" Kim asked, taken somewhat aback by the Prince's strong choice of words. "How could anybody not love living in a ferociously gorgeous place like this?"

"Even the most luxurious prison in the world is still a prison." Wally lamented, staring absently into the bottom of his glass. "And that's what this palace ultimately is to me. Granted, it may not have bars on the windows or barbed wire along the walls, but without the freedom to come and go as I please, the end result is still the same."

"Well, yeah… I guess. I mean, I can see your point in all of this." Kim pondered as she glanced thoughtfully toward the floor. "But hey! You still have that whole 'abolishing the monarchy' thing to look forward to. That's bound to make this place a lot cheerier for you when the time comes."

"True, provided that I choose to stay." Wally agreed with a shrug.

"What? You got some other kingdom that you're heir to?"

"No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous." Wally drolled. "I'm simply no longer so certain of my desire to remain here. After an entire lifetime of calling these four walls and four shores home, I can't help but feel a need to get out and expand my horizons, so to speak."

"So what then? You'll be traveling the world? Joining the jet-set crowd?"

"Perhaps." He shrugged again. "But who knows. It's really all just an academic exercise at this point. Papa isn't going anywhere anytime soon, so for the immediate future I'm still stuck right here." He glanced about the room with a look of resentful resignation etched upon his long, thin face.

"Well hey then. Buck up." Kim cheerfully responded, trying to lighten the Prince's mood. "The future has a way of getting here quicker than you might think."

"You should trust her on that, Wallace." Another voice said, entering the conversation. "Kimberly has been in a position to know what she's talking about."

Kim quickly spun around to face the person who she knew the familiar voice belonged to.

"Doctor Director!" she called out with a smile, extending her hand in greeting to the crime czar. "It's ferociously good to see you again!"

"And it's good to see you again, Kimberly." Betty reciprocated, accepting the offered handshake. "I know you received medical clearance after your mission but it's good to confirm things firsthand."

"Well it's good to be good." Kim admitted with another smile and a flip of her hair. "Oh, have you met Prince Wallace the Third, by the way?"

"Our paths have crossed, yes." Betty admitted, reaching out to shake the young royal's hand. "How are you readjusting to normal so far, Wallace?"

"For as normal as it can be, being the son of a King… mmmmm… as well as can be expected, I suppose."

"I'll take that as 'satisfactorily'." Betty pondered, regarding the Prince with her one good eye before returning her attention to the young redhead beside her.

"So how are you enjoying the festivities tonight?" she asked, showing a bemused expression that Kim found somewhat puzzling.

"Oh, everything's been more than wonderful." She beamed. "The guest suites are something out of a fairy tale, the decorations are marvelous and the music is fantastic. Now if I could just pry my date away from the buffet…"

"Ah yes. I noticed young Ronald over by the dessert table a few moments ago." Betty observed. "Offhand, I'd say that the Napoleons have met their Waterloo."

"Yeah, that's _my_ guy." Kim sighed, partly from resignation and partly with wistful fondness.

"Yes, and it would appear that pastries aren't the only thing on the menu tonight." Wally spoke up from beside the pair.

"Beg pardon?" Kim asked in confusion.

"Oh nothing." Wally shrugged, looking toward the corner of the room where a team of pastry chefs were busily at work behind a table set with decadent displays of light flaky goodness. "But from a distance it looks as though my erstwhile relation has taken an interest in something other than what's being offered on the table."

It took some doing to catch Wally's meaning, squinting through the crowd, straining for details amongst the growing number of partygoers, but it wasn't long before she caught sight of a familiar blue dress uniform…

And the shock of long blonde hair that was stealthily sliding up beside him.

"Excuse me for a moment," she ominously growled, lowering her shoulders and stalking off into the crowd, "but I believe there's one particular party that's about to be crashed."

As the fiery mane melted into the throng, Wally swallowed hard, and Betty readied her G.J. communicator for a possible emergency transmission.

* * *

"Ya' know Rufus, you can say what you want about battlefield strategy, but when it comes to the kitchen, the French sure do know their stuff."

_"Hurk, Nnnn-huh. Totally!"_ Rufus enthusiastically agreed. Having just drained the contents of a cream puff, the tiny creature now set about the task of crawling inside the empty shell with the intent of devouring it from the inside out: A long-held personal dream.

"So what's next, little buddy?" Ron pondered, glancing over the elaborate culinary display and taking a sip from the fruity, non-alcoholic concoction with a name he couldn't pronounce that the bartender had handed him. "We can check out the 'statement of éclair-ration,' or are you feeling more of the strudel vibe 'bout now?"

A small pink head suddenly popped out of the flaky, golden-brown shell that he held in his left hand.

"Hmmmmmm… _Strudel."_ Rufus declared with certainty.

"Then to the German table it is. Sprechen ze _de-lish!"_

"You do realize that's not entirely German, what you just said?"

Ron abruptly stopped and turned to face the new voice.

"…And your accent could use some work too."

"Ah, well… I really don't speak much… or _any_ at all really." Ron chuckled, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "In fact, the only bit that I know is whatever I've managed to pick up from reruns on late-night TV."

"Hogan's Heroes?"

"What else?"

"Why am I not surprised?" the lithe young figure giggled good-naturedly in response. "It's good to see you again, Ronald. How has life been treating you?"

"Not bad, Alexia. Not bad at all." Ron grinned with a casual shrug. "It's been somewhat of an adjustment getting back in touch with the normal world, but no worries. The Ron-man can adapt."

"Great. I'm glad to hear that." The grinning duchess replied. "After our shared experience I was worried that you might find re-acclimating yourself to civilian life difficult."

"Well, it hasn't _all_ been smooth sailing." He nervously admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his gaze. "But all in all I'm getting by okay."

While he tried hard not to show it, Alexia had unwittingly hit something of a raw nerve. The truth of the matter was that he had been dealing with nightmares ever since they had arrived back aboard ship. Of course he had immediately told Kim of this new development, and of course she had turned right around and informed Doctor Director, which meant both women were now in the process of arranging counseling for him. But while he was grateful for the help and touched by the display concern, such psychological baggage was something that he preferred not be broadcast to the world. And so the past few weeks had found him becoming something of an expert in the art of putting on a brave face and carrying on as though nothing had changed.

To her credit, the ever-astute Duchess sensed something amiss in this young man's words, but decided to pass on pressing the issue. If there was something he preferred not to discuss at that moment, then that was his prerogative.

Besides, there was something else at that moment that was bugging her even more.

"Uh, Ronald," she spoke up, grabbing the blonde's attention, "You've… you've got a little something right there…" She pointed to her own face as an indicator of what she meant.

"Oh, really?" Ron responded, reaching up to wipe his cheek. "Did I get it?"

"No… On the other side… Your left."

"Over here?"

"A little higher."

"Here?"

"Here, just let me help you." She unceremoniously licked her thumb and reached toward the offending spot, causing Ron to recoil back in surprise.

"Eewwwww! C'mon now! Seriously!" he loudly protested, attempting in vain to squirm away from the Duchess's efforts. "That's like totally what my Mom used to do! When I was SIX!"

"Well mothers always know best then, don't they?" Alexia insisted, finishing her work and licking her thumb once more to clear the residue.

_"Mmm-mmmm,_ raspberry." She mumbled absent-mindedly.

"Ah yes. That would be from the 'Leaning Tower of _Tort_ Reform' over in the corner." He laughed uncomfortably, taking a nervous sip from his beverage.

"And you're gonna need reforming if you go around letting other girls taste you like that, Mister."

"With that intrusion, Ron spit his drink half-way across the room, narrowly missing the Duchess and catching an unfortunate wine steward who had the bad luck of exiting the kitchen at exactly the wrong moment. Rufus gagged in shock, nearly falling out of his doughy cocoon, and Alexia seemed somehow unfazed by it all, turning to face the source of the intrusion with all the dignity and unflappable poise that eighteen years of growing up groomed for greatness can provide.

"Ah! And a very good evening to you Kimberly." She graciously stated with a sweep of her arm. "How are we finding the accommodations on this joyous occasion?"

_"WE _will be doing much better once other people stop licking _our_ boyfriend." Kim stated emphatically, putting emphasis on each word that would have chilled a dish of peach flambé.

"Oh, my dear Kimberly," Alexia grinned in return, "I do believe that once again you have misread my intentions."

"Yeah KP! It was nothing! Less than nothing! Really!" Ron excitedly insisted through ragged, hyper breaths. "It's just I had some smutch on my face… and Alexia here surprised me… and… and she wanted to help… and… and… and what's the deal with this table arrangement anyway?" he asked, turning to a nearby Chef's Assistant. "You've got German strudel sitting right next to a tray of French Croissants! Why in the world would you ever even _do_ that?"

"Because the Polish sausage wasn't delivered in time." The attendant stated flatly.

"Say wha…?" Ron blinked in utter incomprehension.

"You can relax Ron, I get it." Kim's voice called out to him, bring his attention back to the two young women in front of him.

"Wha… uh… I mean, really? You do?" he stammered, flabbergasted that to spite the outward appearances he might actually live to see the sunrise the next morning.

"Yes, I do." His grinning girlfriend reassured him. "And what's more, I totally understand."

"Wow." Was the only response he could muster. "I mean… like… wow."

"Let's just say that I've learned to trust you a little more in the past few weeks." She clarified, drawing close to him and placing a tender hand upon his cheek. "At least with some people." She added, and shared a quick, conspiratorial wink with the Duchess.

"Wow, KP. That's just… That's one of the nicest things I've ever heard you say about me." He sniffed, finding it suddenly difficult to retain his composure while in uniform.

"Yeah, well just remember one thing, pastry boy."

"What's that, KP?"

"If you're going to loaning yourself out for any more taste tests, it had better be for me and me alone." She said, running a thumb across his cheek and sticking it into her own mouth before slowly and sultrily withdrawing it.

"Mmmmmm… _raspberry."_ She moaned huskily. "My _favorite."_

If Ron had thought maintaining his composure was difficult before, _this_ was requiring whole new levels of self-control.

And for Alexia it was a chance to excuse her self, with one last parting remark thrown in for good measure.

"Well I shall take my leave then and allow you two to enjoy the evening and each other's company." She said, bowing ever so slightly in the couple's direction.

"Thanks for taking the hint." Kim grinned warmly over her shoulder.

"Don't mention it." Alexia waved dismissively. "Now do you two need me to have a servant make up a room, or would you prefer he fetch a couple of pastry bags?"

Both young heroes nearly gagged and turned a shade vaguely reminiscent of the aforementioned raspberry filling.

_"And the final point goes to me."_ Alexia inwardly grinned to herself as she waved cordially to the couple and turned to walk away.

"So _not_ funny!" Kim called out at the retreating form, but the Duchess either didn't hear her, or simply chose not to respond. In either case, it wasn't long before the elegant folds of her ruby red gown had disappeared melted the crowd, leaving the two young heroes alone amongst strangers once more.

"Ya' know, I really gotta hand it to her." Ron observed, still watching the point at which Alexia had disappeared. "For somebody with noble blood in her veins, she really knows how to give and take."

"Well that's great for her," Kim lamented, "just as long as you're not taking what she's giving."

"Hey, you _know_ you've always been the only girl for me."

"Yeah, I know." Kim sighed, drawing closer and lightly playing with the lapels of Ron's coat. "I just like to be reminded of that every once in a while."

"Duly noted." Ron smiled, looking deep into those emerald green pools. "So what does my lady want to do now?"

"Dunno." Kim shrugged, glancing about the room, soon noticing that the small orchestra in the corner had apparently completed their warm ups and that a small group of partygoers was now congregating on the room's dance floor. With a sly smile she quickly seized the initiative, wordlessly taking her boyfriend by the hand and turning to lead him toward the center of the room. She would let her actions rather than her words speak for her here. Ron would catch on soon enough… She would make sure of that.

Reaching the center of the floor, she was quick to now let Ron take the lead, his right hand sliding gently down to her hip as her own found a home in his left. As the music started they both began to move in time, moving across the floor, not paying any real attention to the tune or their steps, but rather simply letting the feel of the music guide them. Lost in each other's eyes, ensconced in each other's warm embrace, the surrounding crowd was quick to fade away. Their world shrunk, leaving only them on that dance floor: Eyes only seeing each other… Hearts only feeling the other's presence.

It didn't matter whether they were alone on a mountaintop, standing in a crowded room or running through Grand Central Station at rush hour. In the end, this is what it would always come down to: Just the two of them, standing side by side against whatever life chose to throw at them, hand in hand, two hearts beating as one; The elementary building block upon which their universe was built.

The tempo changed and she drew herself close to him, laying her head on his chest and allowing the music to carry her away. Through half-muddled thoughts she noted that the light of the chandeliers was oddly beautiful the way it reflected off the medals hanging from Ron's left breast. The Distinguished Flying Cross he had earned for his actions in the Philippines was especially brilliant with its red, white and blue points refracting a rainbow of colors as it danced in the ever-changing light. And right next to it, his Meritorious Conduct Medal with its green field and crossed-swords on a golden sunburst was casting its own particular hue into the mix.

They had both accomplished so much in their young lives: So much that at times it seemed as though nothing could ever top what they had already seen and done, and that they would be doomed to live out their adult years in abject boredom, knowing that reality would always pale in comparison the lifetime of adventure they had somehow packed into just eighteen short years.

But each and every time either of them started to think in such terms, the familiar four-chime call of the Kimmunicator would sound again, and they would be off once more on yet another whirlwind adventure for the ages. It seemed as though fate would not allow for their lives to become boring.

And perhaps that was what made them work as a couple, she silently pondered to no one as Ron continued to lead her across the floor. Maybe there was just something special… something indescribable between them that clicked in a way that science would never be able to quantify. Global Justice had spent millions trying to decipher the "Ron Factor," and had ultimately given up in frustration. But just because something couldn't be measured by a bunch of men in white lab coats didn't mean that it did not exist. After all, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. No, there was definitely something to the crime-fighting organization's line of thought. Each and every day that passed only left her more convinced of that fact.

For at the end of the day they simply brought out the best in each other. His level-headedness and easy-going approach to life kept her grounded in reality, while her ambition and drive to excel pushed him to levels of achievement that he would have never otherwise attained. Apart from one another, they would have almost certainly grown to be ordinary people, leading ordinary lives and dealing with ordinary problems. But together, they were something truly extraordinary, and it was that togetherness that had made all the difference… for themselves and for the world.

"Are you two swaying to the music that's left in your heads?"

Surprised by the sudden intrusion, Kim lifted her head to the unexpected sight of an otherwise empty dance floor, save for the two of them and Doctor Director, who was regarding them with an amused smile and a gleam in her one good eye. Several other guests stood around the floor's perimeter, most smiling, some pointing, and a few doing a very poor job of stifling amused giggles.

"Wha? What happened?" Ron inquired in total confusion, just then noticing that something seemed very out of place.

"The band stopped playing two minutes ago." Betty grinned knowingly. "Some of us figured that somebody should come out here and point that out to you."

"And you were elected spokesperson, huh?" a red-faced Kim asked, trying desperately to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible. It was times like this that she _really_ envied Rufus.

"Well not so much _elected,_ mind you," Betty explained, "but I _did_ win the coin toss."

"What? You mean… Why you guys and… and your…"

"Whoa! Easy there, Kimberly. You've got to step back and see it from my perspective."

"Which is _what_ exactly?"

"Well extremely funny for starters."

_"Nnnnngh!"_

"Heh. Well you gotta admit KP," Ron chuckled, slipping a comforting arm around his girlfriend's shoulder, "to anyone watching that _was_ pretty funny."

"Hooray. We're a regular Abbot and Costello." She groaned, clearly embarrassed by the circumstances but still managing to visibly relax somewhat. Thinking a change of scenery might be best for his blushing date at that moment, he quickly decided to seize the opportunity.

"So what say we go out and get some fresh air?" he asked cautiously. "I hear there's a completely rebuilt veranda around here somewhere that we haven't explored yet."

"Yeah. Some air would be nice." Kim nodded in response. "It _does_ seem to have suddenly become a little stuffy in here."

Ron offered his arm and as Kim graciously accepted, he briefly turned his attention the head of Global Justice.

"Thanks for the great party, doc." He grinned goofily. "And pretty spiffy dress uniform, by the way."

"Why thank you Ronald. It feels good to get out of that confounded jumpsuit every once in a while." Betty smiled. "And thank _you_ for all your hard work on this mission… _both_ of you. I know this was a difficult one, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't have serious reservations about placing the call to Wade in the first place. But the two of you stepped up and surpassed even my wildest expectations. My hat is off to both of you."

"Meh… It's no big. Really." Kim said dismissively, feeling the blush rising in her cheeks once more.

"Yeah, you know us." Ron shrugged. "Just a couple of crazy kids doing the best that they can."

"Be careful not to sell yourselves short in that department." Betty said, her expression suddenly turning serious. "You should never, ever doubt the ability of a small, highly dedicated group of people to change the world. And do you know why?"

"Why's that?" Ron inquired.

"Because it's the only thing that ever truly has." Was her straightforward reply. Then, with a final smile to what she considered the two most extraordinary people she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, the crime-fighting czar turned and walked away, leaving her words to slowly sink in, their meaning echoing in the ears of the young adults who had perhaps done more to change the world than anyone since Eratosthenes proved that the Earth was round.

"She sure has a way with words, doesn't she?" Ron observed after several seconds of contemplative silence had passed between the two of them.

"Goes with the territory, I guess. Constantly dealing with diplomats and what not." Kim pondered aloud. "Now how about some of that fresh air you promised me."

Taking the hint, Ron quickly led them through the crowd to the far side of the room, and with a cursory glance to ensure their absence would not be missed, they slipped silently through the great oaken doors and into the night air.

The night was truly dazzling as they made their way to the railing at the veranda's far edge. Illuminated only by a few scattered torches, the spaciousness of the stone patio ended abruptly just a few feet beyond the railing as flickering light gave way to the omnipresence of the night. Above them, ten thousand stars blazed in the firmament, cascading down from the apex of the sky like a diamond-studded blanket of black velvet, only to join with the equally bedazzled spectacle of the city at night. And between the two, a darkened sea reflected the ghostly image of a crescent moon as it tentatively peeked over the eastern horizon; like a pale and timid gopher emerging from its burrow.

A salty breeze blew up from the beach, rustling a few scattered leaves and eliciting a slight shiver from Kim. Ever the chivalrous one, Ron was quick to remove his uniform jacket and drape it over his girlfriend's appreciative shoulders. His arm soon found its way around her and she sighed contentedly as she settled in to his comforting warmth.

"You know, when you really stop to think about things," she observed, staring absently out across the sparkling city and toward the darkened horizon beyond, "this is actually a really nice place. I mean… you know… as long as there's nobody shooting at you."

"Yeah. Ain't that the truth?" Ron chuckled in agreement. "Flying bullets… exploding cars… collapsing buildings… As missions go, this one was almost as bad as our trip to Detroit."

"Yeah, but _that_ was just the ride from the airport." Kim cringed, remembering one city that she hoped she'd never have to save again.

"Hence my statement that it was _almost_ as bad."

"Ah! Good point."

Several more moments of contented silence passed between them, staring out across the city and simply enjoying each other's presence. Now that the danger had passed, it truly was a beautiful place.

"Ronnie?"

"Hmmmm?"

"There's, uh, something that I've been meaning to get off my chest."

"Whazat?"

"About what Betty said back there… You _are_ aware how true that is, aren't you? About what a totally fantastic job you did?"

"Pffft." Ron hissed. "It's like you always say, KP. 'No big.'"

"Wrong, Ron. It is big." Kim forcefully insisted, turning in Ron's arms to face him. "Huge, in fact. And _don't_ try comparing this to going up against Gill at Wannaweep." She added, sensing what her boyfriend's next objection would be and moving to preempt such a maneuver. "This was so much more than just dealing with an annoying camper turned out-of-control swamp thing with a grudge."

Ron simply stood there silently, his expression indicating that while he understood his girlfriend's logic, he wasn't quite ready to accept her conclusion. This of course only prompted her to press further with her argument.

"The things you did out there, Ron… You were beyond amazing. You took charge when called upon, you were cool under fire, you had a tactical understanding of the sitch at all times and you used that knowledge effectively. You were resourceful, brave, levelheaded… And you did it all under conditions that would have broken most people. Heck, _I_ almost broke a couple of times out there! You may not realize it, but _you_ held us all together. _You're_ the reason we made it out alive."

"Yeah, maybe." Ron sighed forlornly, casting his gaze downward and still sounding thoroughly unconvinced. "But none of that changes what else happened out there."

Somehow, Kim had seen this coming. She knew all too well of the struggles her lover had been facing since they had first returned home. And yet somehow, each time the subject was broached, she still found herself at a loss for words.

But this time was different. Seeing Ron berate himself for the umpteenth time, and for nothing more than doing the right thing no less, stirred something inside of her. Her take-charge attitude was quick to kick in and she squared her shoulders, facing Ron nose-to-nose.

"Look at me, Ron." She commanded sternly.

Ron kept his gaze fixed on the paving stones beneath his feet.

"LOOK… AT… ME!" she said again, this time more forcefully.

His half-hooded gaze slowly rose up to meet her own, and cocoa brown eyes locked with emerald green.

"You once gave me some of the best advice I've ever had, and now I'm going to give it back to you." She stated flatly and forcefully. "This little pity fiesta is _over!"_

That got his attention.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, do you understand me? _Nothing!"_ she continued, grasping his face between her hands and firmly holding his eyes with her own. "What you did was necessary. It was essential. It had to be done. It was the right thing to do. And even if it wasn't, it still wouldn't matter because you had… no… choice!"

She paused for a momentary breath, never breaking eye contact, and when she continued, she did so at a somewhat more sedate and compassionate pace.

"Look, if you're wanting someone to blame, blame the other guy. _He's_ the one who made all the choices here." She carefully explained. "He didn't _have_ to become a mercenary… He didn't _have_ to take a job with Rhodighan Industries… He didn't _have_ to carry a rifle out into the woods that night. Heck, he didn't even _have_ to stick around after he missed with that first shot! Until the very moment that the two of you went muzzle to muzzle, _he_ had made all of the choices. He put _himself_ in that sitch… He _forced_ you to do what you did… And _he's_ the one who paid the price."

"I know, KP. I know." Ron shook his head solemnly. "But knowing that still doesn't stop me from seeing his face every time I close my eyes."

Kim sighed deeply and looked desperately away. It was becoming more and more clear to her that logic could only do so much in this case. Right or wrong… baseless or well founded… Ron's feelings were what they were, and no amount of rationalization or reason was ever going to completely change that fact. Lessen the pain? Yes… But not banish it away entirely.

"Look Ron." She finally spoke after several angst-ridden seconds. "You're going to be running a tough road here for a while. No one's denying that. And while I probably won't ever completely understand what you're going through here, I like to think I've at least got _some_ idea, so I'd like to ask you a question if I can?"

"Wha… uh, sure KP. Ask anything you want."

"You've always had my back, right?"

He found himself momentarily taken aback by the nature of what he considered a patently obvious question.

"Wha… Well yeah! Totally, KP. You know I've always got you covered."

"And you've always been there for me, whenever and wherever I've needed you?"

"Well duh."

"Great! Then do me the honor of letting me return the favor."

"Come again?"

"Ron, I'm asking you to let me be there for you, just as you've always been there for me." She gently took his right hand in both of hers and placed it over her left breast, holding it there so he could feel the rhythmic beating of her heart.

"You're going to have bad days. But when you do, remember that you're surrounded by people who love you and care for you, and that I'll always be personally right there at the front of that line." She passionately implored him. "When you're hurting, talk to me. When you're having trouble dealing, lean on me. When you need a hand, let me be that hand. And when you need someone to stand firm beside you, let me be that someone. It's just you and me baby, and together we'll get you through this. Do you get that? Do you get what I'm saying? Just the two of us, hand in hand and heart to heart. Just like it's always been. We can win this fight… together. Just stand by me."

Ron, for his part, was spellbound. Such passion… such love… such devotion was contained within those words that his mental gears bound up under the weight of it all and he momentarily lost track of his senses. He stared deeply into those limpid green pools that so held his soul and silently pondered what he had ever done to garner such feelings from someone so utterly amazing in every way.

"Heh-heh, well how can I refuse an offer that like that?" He chuckled, reaching up to nervously rub the back of his neck. Although his girlfriend didn't know it, she had just struck a particularly resonant chord. For ever since the start of the mission, and in fact weeks beforehand, there had been a question rattling around in the back of this mind. At so many times during their ordeal he had wanted to broach the subject. On the first night when she had fallen asleep in his lap, he had wanted to wake her and speak his piece. That night in camp when she had first confessed her worries about Alexia's intentions, he had wanted to take her aside and tell her just how little she had to be afraid of. As they sheltered beneath that withering artillery barrage, he had wanted to shout above the roar, declaring to her what weighed so heavily upon his heart. But in each and every case, circumstances intervened, and he was forced to wait. The sniper… Spotting for the guns… His own reluctance to wake her when he knew she needed her rest… Each and every time he forced his feeling deep within himself once again and carried on with the mission at hand.

But now, standing alone with her on a deserted veranda with nothing but the stars to pay witness, no such distractions were present. He knew the circumstances and he knew the score: It was now or never.

"And it's… uh… funny you should mention… those… things." He stammered, looking to Kim like he was about to wear a hole through the back of his neck. "'Cause you see, I've sort of… well… been thinking along those lines myself. And… well… I've been figuring… and…"

"Ron? What are you trying to say?" Kim asked, taking a step back, acutely aware of the queasy feeling that was now welling up in the pit of her stomach.

The sense of apprehension was almost palpable as it swirled through the air about her. She had seen her boyfriend be nervous before, on too many occasions to be counted in fact. When you grew up with someone as phobia-prone as Ron Stoppable, such bouts of mania were par for the course. But while his antics were at least partially expected, their intensity was a complete surprise. Kim couldn't remember ever seeing him quite so freaked out as he was at that moment. She knew that whatever bombshell Ron was about to drop, it was a big one, and the prospect of not knowing what it was left her chilled to the bone. His weren't the only panic levels that were rising.

"Well, it's kinda like this, you see?" he continued, fighting to find words through what was becoming an increasingly muddled thought process. "It's true what you said, ya' know, about it always having been you and me. 'Cause that's just what it always has been, really. I mean... I've never really been much for the dating scene… you know… generally speaking. And aside from Walter Nelson, Monkey-boy and a few other minor crushes, you were never much of a player yourself. No offense or anything. So I guess I was just… you know… kinda thinking that…"

"Are you… Are you br… _breaking up_ with me?" Kim sniffed, scarcely believing what her ears were hearing.

"What? NO! No, of course not! No! I'd _never_ do that! How could you even _think_ that, KP? I mean, _wow!_ Like… just _no!"_

"Well then _exactly_ what is it you're trying to tell me?" she spat, her nerves fraying to their breaking point. "I'm begging you Ron. Whatever it is you want to say, just say it."

"It's not that simple, Kim." Ron huffed in frustration. He was blowing the moment: He was blowing it big time and he knew it. But it seemed as though the harder he tried to pull himself together, the more he fell apart. How was it that the guys in the movies always made it seem so easy?

"It's just that… well I've sort of had this planned out in my head for some time now." He plunged ahead, nervously pacing the ground as he tied himself into an ever tighter linguistic and emotional pretzel. "It's all supposed to look and feel a certain way, and… and I'm supposed to say just the right things, but when it comes time to throw down I totally choke. And I'm standing here with a whole cotton plantation in my mouth and no clue about what I'm saying and…"

"For God's sake Ron! Just spit it out already!"

"Well I'm trying to ask you to _marry_ me! But I just get so caught up finding the right words and tripping over my tongue… and I start worrying that my participle might be dangling, and…"

"RON!"

"What?"

Ceasing his incessant pacing and looking up, the sight he caught took his breath away. Those two emerald-green orbs that he loved so much, shimmering with barely contained tears while a pair of ruby-red lips were hidden behind two slender hands, clasped tightly together in joyous disbelief.

"That is… I mean…"

"Stop! Just stop right there!" she whispered weakly as she stumbled forward to throw herself into his arms. "That was all you had to say! That was all you _ever_ had to say!"

"Oh… _ohhhhhhh_ yeah. I get it now." He whispered as he wrapped his arms around the quivering form that was now weeping softly into the collar of his shirt. A quick glance to his right revealed that Rufus had climbed up onto his shoulder to see what all the ruckus was about.

"Heh. All things considered, I'd say I did pretty well with that." He remarked to his little buddy.

The tiny creature placed his face into his paw and shook his head, warbling in disgust as he retreated back to the warmth of his pocket home. When they got back to Middleton, he was so getting his human enrolled in a public speaking course.

But the ruminations of a frustrated mole rat demanded very little of Ron's attention at that moment. The primary object of his focus being the beautiful redhead nestled in his arms, which by now had ceased her crying and was simply pressing her face into his shoulder as she clung to him tightly. The fact that someone so strong could find so much comfort in someone like him was a fact that never ceased to boggle his mind.

"Uh, not to be overly nit-picky or anything," he finally said after several moments of silence."

"Mmmm-hmmmmmmm." Came her soft reply.

"…But I don't believe you've actually answered the question yet."

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she favored him with a look that was half humorous and half incredulous disbelief.

"Well of course it's 'yes' silly." She sniffed, wiping at her eyes. "As if there was ever any doubt."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that." Ron grinned, reaching up to gently dab at the corner of her eye himself. "I just wanted to make sure. You know… cross the 'i' and dot the 't' and whatnot."

"You got that backwards, you big goof." She grinned, nestling herself into his shoulder once more. "But that's just the sort of thing that I love about you."

"Ah yes. A man of many gifts, I am." He said loftily, eliciting another burst of giggles. "So we're really gonna do this, huh?"

"Totally." Kim purred into the fabric of his shirt. "In fact I was actually beginning to wonder what was taking you so long to ask."

"Oh, badical." He said with a thoughtful tilt of his head.

"And why is that so badical?" she reflexively asked.

"Because it means I won't have to return this."

Reaching into the pocket of the jacket that still hung draped over her petite shoulders, Kim felt him rummage around for several seconds before his hand emerged again, this time holding a small box covered in black velvet with delicate golden hinges.

Her breath caught in her throat as he flicked his thumb to open the lid, revealing a small gemstone set into a simple gold band.

The princess-cut stone had no color of its own, but when it caught the flickering light of the torches it created every color of the rainbow. It wasn't a big stone to be certain, but she had long ago decided that it was the message such a stone carried, not the stone itself, that was ultimately important.

And the message carried by this solitary stone was just as meaningful, just as heartfelt and just as fulfilling to her as any gaudy, hand-crushing piece of ice could ever be.

"Soooo, I guess we should make this official then." Ron remarked, plucking the ring from its box. "May I do the honors?"

"By all means." Kim beamed, blinking back another round of tears as she watched Ron drop to one knee in front of her, take her left hand in his, and gently slip the ring onto her finger.

"There! Not a bad fit, if I may say so." He smiled.

"You may." Kim said, taking his hands and pulling him up to wrap her arms around his neck. "You most certainly may."

Rising up onto her tiptoes, she closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly to one side, her breath hitching in anticipation of what was to come. A shiver raced down her spine as she felt his warm breath upon her face and strong arms looping around behind her, pulling her close. Each knew what was happening, and neither had any desire to resist.

As their lips met, the outside world faded away once again, washing away all distractions and obstacles, leaving only the two of them and the love that they shared. It was perhaps the most meaningful kiss they had yet shared, the love that each had for the other flowing between them like a raging torrent, filling each of their souls with hope for the future and renewing life's promises once more.

No words were said when their lips parted; none were needed. Each simply stood there amidst the dancing torchlight, holding each other, breathing heavily and gazing deeply into each other's eyes. An entire new world was even now opening before them, and that world with all its joy and wonder was contained within the heart and soul of the person before them. How such joy and promise was even possible they did not know. And more importantly, they did not care. The mechanics of it all were irrelevant. All that mattered was that it _was,_ and that it was good.

But when Kim looked down at the ground and snorted with amusement, the mood shifted decidedly.

"What? What's so funny?" Ron asked, raising a critical eyebrow.

"I was just thinking is all." Kim giggled. "Dad is so going to flip out when he hears about this."

"Mmm-hmm. Yes he did." Came Ron's succinct reply.

"Wait! Hold the phone!" Kim pulled up short, eyeing him suspiciously. "What do you mean he _did?"_

"He flipped out when I told him." Ron answered with a smile. "Well, maybe 'flipped out' is too strong of a term. It was more like three minutes of a catatonic state followed by fifteen of incoherent babbling. He finally settled down when your mother shoved a bottle of smelling salts under his nose."

"You already asked Daddy, _and_ my Mom?" Kim veritably shrieked.

"She also knocked him once on the head with a reflex mallet. _That_ seemed to help too."

"Exactly when and where did this clandestine meeting take place, Mister Subterfuge?"

"I'm still wondering what the latex gloves were for, though."

"RON! ANSWER ME!"

"Wha? Oh, uh… At your place about five weeks ago or so."

"Five _weeks?"_ she screamed. "You mean this whole plot has been going on right under my nose for more than a month without my knowing?"

"Now-now, KP. I wouldn't exactly call it a 'plot.'"

"And just where the heck was _I_ when this quote _'meeting'_ took place." She used air quotes for effect.

"You? You were out shopping with Monique."

"Oh _reeeeeallllllllly."_ She said with an ominous look in her eye.

"And before you get yourself all worked up into a tweak," Ron quickly jumped in, "no, she wasn't in on the 'plot,' as you put it. It just happened to be mentioned in passing that the two of you were having a 'girl's night out' that evening and I figured I'd take advantage of the opportunity."

"I _seeeeeee."_ She said, eying him suspiciously, but in a clearly playful sort of way. "Well who knew that my BF… check that… my _fiancée_ was so devious?"

"Maybe I am and maybe I'm not." Ron shot back with a conspiratorial wink. "By the way, have I mentioned how badical that word sounds?"

"What?_ 'Fiancée.'"_

"That's the one."

"Well enjoy it while you can, Mister Romance, because you'll be trading it in for another title soon enough."

"Oh really? Whazat?"

"'Husband.'"

"Ohhhhhhhh right. _That_ title. Ya' know, I think I could get used to that one too."

"Glad to hear it, 'cause I can wait to try on the 'Wife' label."

_"That's_ my girl." He grinned, pulling his newly minted fiancée in for another tender kiss.

"So what doth my lady want to do now?" he asked when they both finally parted for air.

"Hmmmm… Well let's see." She said, placing a thoughtful finger to her chin. "There's a room full of good food, fine music and merriment back in there that we could partake of."

"That sure sounds like a plan." Ron agreed.

"Or… there's a gorgeous, well-appointed suite upstairs with the biggest, softest, most luxurious bed you've ever stretched out on." She added with a soft and sultry tone.

"Oh, I don't think we need to be turning in just yet." Ron obliviously remarked, glancing at his watch. "The night's still pretty young."

"That's true baby," Kim confirmed, cozying up to him and playing with the knot of his tie, "but _sleeping_ wasn't exactly the activity I had in mind."

The lascivious look she shot him was too obvious for even _him_ to miss, and he quickly began wondering just how tightly Kim was adjusting his tie.

"Oh. Well, (cough), that sounds like an (ahem) even _better_ plan." He managed to say through short and ragged breaths.

"Well then what say we put our plan into action?" she breathed huskily, taking his hand in hers and leading him back toward the large, double doors.

"Hey, you know me." Ron nervously laughed as the amorous redhead with impure intentions led him back inside toward a future that he dared not imagine. "The Ron-man is all about the bondigity action."

"And it's a darn good thing too." She grinned, turning back just enough to flash him a warm smile. "Because when it comes to _my_ fiancée… He's gonna be dealing with more action than he can handle."

**- The End -**

(For now…)

**

* * *

Author's Notes:**

_End scene… annnnnnd… cut!_

Hot dang! That's a lot of material to get down on paper. Offhand, I'd say I've been spitting out more words these last few months than a dictionary being run through a tree shredder. Looking back on it now, it's funny to think that when I started this little tale, I was just looking for something to fill my time and stir my juices while waiting out some minor writer's block regarding my ongoing work with "Summertime Blues."

_So much for that plan…_

So now that I've effectively run out of excuses to stall, I suppose I really should be getting back to that poor little neglected project. But in the mean time however, I'd like to once again thank anyone and everyone who's commented on this story since its beginning. The list by this point has become too long to name every last one of you here, but you all know who you are, so you have my heartfelt permission to give yourselves a major round of applause and a hearty pat on the back.

Additionally, extra-special thanks go out to site members Hang Tuah and Sentinel 103. (a.k.a. "Leroy" and "Larry.") As my betas and technical consultants on this project you were a major part of this work, and I seriously couldn't have pulled it off without you. Major tip of the hat, fellas… You totally rock!

And now, as part of my ongoing public service program, here it is: Your recommended daily allotment of _geek!_

_Eratosthenes:_ Born in the year 276 B.C. in Cyrene, (in modern-day Libya), Eratosthenes wore many hats in his life, including those of mathematician, poet, music theorist, athlete and astronomer. But to spite all of these accomplishments, he is best known for his exploits within the field of geography, and is today widely regarded as the father of that scientific discipline.

His discoveries are numerous, with modern scholars crediting him with inventing the first latitude and longitude system, correctly calculating both the tilt of the earth's axis and its distance to the sun, and even inventing the "leap day," which is still used by modern calendars today.

But perhaps his greatest achievement came around the year 240 B.C. while serving as Chief Librarian of Alexandria, Egypt. During a summer trip up the Nile River to Syene, (modern-day Aswan), he noticed that at high noon on June 20th, the longest day of the year, the walls of a deep well near the center of town cast no shadow. To spite being several yards deep, the water at its base was completely illuminated by the sun's rays, indicating that the sun was directly overhead.

Now by itself, such an observation was hardly earth shattering, and Eratosthenes paid it little notice at the time. But when the summer solstice came around again the following year, his observations in Syene took on an entirely new significance. For this solstice found him back in Alexandria, standing near the base of one of the city's great obelisks. And as the sun passed noon, just as it had in Syene the year before, he noticed that the tall, needle-like monolith cast a short but distinct shadow.

Now given his advanced knowledge of geometry, he was quick to realize that this could only mean the obelisk was set at a different angle to the sun than the Syene well. But this seemed impossible, as both structures were set in a perfectly vertical orientation to the horizon. The only possible explanation was that the surface of the earth was not flat: That there was a curvature inherent within the earth that caused objects at great distances to be oriented at different angles. And knowing both the height of the Obelisk and the length of its shadow, it was easy for a man of his intelligence to calculate exactly what that angle was. He quickly crunched the numbers, and came up with a figure of just a little more than seven degrees, or about 1/50th of a full circle.

Now, armed with this figure, Eratosthenes could attempt the greatest calculation of his career. He started by hiring a person to walk the entire distance from Alexandria to Syene, counting his paces as he went. (We know this because we still have the papyrus receipt that he signed when paying "Sir Walks-a-lot" for his services.) Upon his return and subsequent reporting of the measured distance, Eratosthenes multiplied the number by 50, arriving at a total global circumference of 24, 662 miles. When compared to modern figures, which were calculated with the aid of modern satellites and computer technology, the error margin of Eratosthenes is less than one percent! Let's hear it for _nerd power!_

And so, we've come to the end of another epic tale, my fellow literary vagabonds. At 272 pages, (according to the counter in the bottom left of this window), I'd like to once again thank all of you for sticking around through the linguistic deluge. And for those times when the rains went away and the words ceased to flow, I thank you doubly for waiting patiently by while the spring was dry. It would be nice if inspiration was like a faucet that one could simply turn on and off at will, but such is unfortunately not the case, and that is the ultimate reality which we all must deal with.

As always, leave a review and receive a reply… It's a drill we all know and love. I'll catch you all with my next posting… Whenever that turns out to be.

Keep the faith!

Peace out!

_Nutzkie…_


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